


Redshift

by LadyJaye



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, At least better than canon, BAMF James "Rhodey" Rhodes, BAMF Tony Stark, But he can't let himself rest, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Howard Stark's Good Parenting, Iron Husbands, James "Rhodey" Rhodes-centric, M/M, Manipulative Nick Fury, More common than you think, Rhodey is tired, RhodeyTony Minibang, RhodeyTony November Bash, Somewhat, Super Soldier Serum, Transhumanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21532798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaye/pseuds/LadyJaye
Summary: On the eve of the 8 year Stark Labs Massacre memorial a series of attacks  leads retired Alliance Captain James Rhodes into being roped into hunting down Iron Man. An infamous terrorist hell bent on the destruction of the Alliance while they're on the brink of war with the Kree.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark
Comments: 47
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JarvisUandDUMEtoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JarvisUandDUMEtoo/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* Hey guys! I tried to do a minibang and somehow ended up with something like 30k of a fic. Like what even? Why am I like this? I've written short things, I swear! 
> 
> I had an awesome partner for this in JarvisUandDUMEtoo who had to endure my hand wringing and cheer read this! A truly talented human who does really fantastic art! Please go check out their work on Tumblr
> 
> Thank you for putting up with me Jay! 
> 
> Also an enormous thank you to PinkGold who beta'd this and helped whip it into shape! This fic would probably be gibberish without your help!

_He arrives at the Asterion station as a part of the security team assigned to Ambassador Maria Stark, actually thankful for his connections for once. For all he wants to prove to himself and his family that he can make it in the military without those connections, he couldn’t miss the opportunity to see Tony. So when Maria Stark requests him herself, he doesn't ask questions._

_He packs a bag and heads out to escort her on a tour of several facilities, finally ending up on the Asterion at 0300 New Terra time. With a knowing smile, she promptly dismisses him once he escorts her to her quarters leaving two marines behind for protection. It seems like overkill but he doesn't plan to be back until early morning and it is protocol, so he runs with it._

_Asterion is sleek, gleaming hallways with plush furniture from foreign dignitaries, and breathtaking labs and facilities, but he heads directly into the underbelly. Strolling through maintenance corridors until the gleam dulls, the lights grow from soft to harsh, and the glossy floors turn into metal grates his boots thump against._

_And there, looking right at home in the midst of all the machinery, was Tony. Illuminated by the blue light of the arc reactor set in the center of his chest he taps the glass casing absently as he works. His dark curls are wild with shiny bits of grease on display from where he's tugged at it, lower lip caught between his teeth. The top half of his jumpsuit is wrapped around his narrow hips, leaving him in an oil stained undershirt._

_James watches him for a moment with a growing smile, while his fiancee, taps out commands on a console, squinting at the results on the screen before muttering to himself and sliding the rack back into place, twirling a tool in his hands._

_Which is, of course, when he lifts his head to move on to the next project and startles, yelps, and promptly chucks the tool directly at his head. James catches it, newly enhanced reflexes allowing him to pluck right out the air what he can now see is a spanner._

_“Christ!” Tony shouts, hands up in an aborted motion to cover his widened eyes. “Rhodey?”_

_Rhodey grins and waggles the spanner at him. “Now, I know you were pissed about me taking the early posting but really, Tones?”_

_“Sure you’re not mistaking me for one of those career military spouses, pining away at home, honeybear? Keeping the hearth hearthy?” Tony asks him, stepping closer, coyly looking him up and down with narrowed eyes.“Fuck, is the serum giving out growth spurts now? That’s just not fair.”_

_“Perks of sticking with the combat side of things,” Rhodey answers, closing that gap and handing him the tool, which Tony immediately drops with a heavy clank on the floor in favor of hooking a finger in the belt loop of his uniform and tugging him forward. Pressed together chest to hips he can feel the comforting hum of the reactor through his uniform._

_Tony tilts his head back more than usual to look up at him, and that’s new and exciting if Tony’s widened eyes are any indication, with that little grin of his that makes Rhodey’s heart race. His hands automatically go to Tony’s hips already pinching and rucking up the fabric up his shirt to get at the warm skin beneath. He works his way up the smooth planes of Tony’s stomach to run his fingers along his spine, drawing out a sharp stuttered gasp._

_“Don’t worry, I’ll catch up,” Tony tells him, leaning up to kiss him sweetly. A chaste press of chapped lips against his that grows hungry and wild. Tony leaves little nips at his lower lip until James’ mouth opens and he can lick inside, pressing up into him. Rhodey brings a hand up to tangle in short dark strands slick with sweat from his work day._

_“I take it you’re not mad anymore?” Rhodey breathes between kisses. He tugs Tony’s head back and dedicates himself to marking up his throat, finding the bare skin offensive. He begins sucking a mark into his skin, high enough that no uniform collar would be able to hide it. Large enough that no one would be able to miss that Tony was taken._

_“I can multitask,” Tony answers around a whine that has Rhodey smiling into the crook of his neck._

_“Anybody else down here, tonight?”_

_“Just little old me,” Tony smirks and takes the initiative to pull him further into the cavernous maintenance bay._

\----

James breathes hard, pushing through the exertion to pump his legs faster as he winds through the mostly vacant streets. It’s fight night at the coliseum and the Grandmaster has demanded the presence of his subjects. Even some of the salvage tribe have abandoned the ripe opportunity to thieve from the haves and have nots in turns to attend. Not that they had much choice or that James is complaining. It makes tracking his quarry all that much easier. 

“He’s headed for the marketplace!” Carol calls over comms from above, dashing over rooftops nimble as ever. 

“He has a skiff parked nearby, camouflaged with the rest of the garbage. Surprised it’s still there, actually.” Valkyrie adds from the Warbird. “I don’t think I have to tell you what’ll happen if he makes it.” 

“Think it’s a trap?” James asks, taking a sharp turn down a narrow alley that has him slamming hard into the adjacent wall and sending a plume of dust floating up. Distantly he can hear the cheers of the crowd. They’re chanting something he can’t even hear but can guess it’s along the lines of ‘ _Kill Kill Kill!’_

“Guess we’re about to find out,” Carol says. “I’ve got a bead on him!” 

His little detour has put him directly behind the man running from them. He hops over a table to keep pace. This just isn’t getting any easier. He really is too old for this. Not that his body shows it. He was no infantryman but the serum given to Alliance pilots had its uses even long after his last dose. He just pushes forward, driving himself over abandoned equipment and bouncing off the sharp corners of narrow streets, across hundreds of yards without batting an eye. Above him, Carol drops down from a low rooftop with precision to land in Scott Lang’s path, kicking up dirt as she lands 

His hands go to his guns about his hips and James feels an unnatural calm wash over him, like a veil slipping over his face, as he pulls his own side arm, and aims. 

Their AIM contact wants him alive but that's negotiable. They’re willing to give more than fair pay for the safe return of whatever Lang has in the case strapped to his back and Lang himself but it isn't a dealbreaker. Of course, a big Org like that couldn’t outright kill him but if there were ever a perfect scenario, now would be it. He had him in his sights, could imagine the size of the blood spatter, where Lang’s body would drop and stain the dirt road, how easily it would be to just take the case from him. After all, transporting a live bounty is always much more complicated. His trigger finger tenses. 

He ends up not having the chance. There's a tremble beneath their feet and Lang’s eyes go comically wide as the second quake hits. Not enough to knock them off their feet but easily drawing their attention elsewhere. What sounds like the excited jeering of the crowd in the Coliseum is replaced by screams of terror. James and Scott whirl at the same time towards the bright lights in time to see a rather large ship settle over the wide space, all the lights redirecting to the gleaming red hull. 

The ship hovers over the Coliseum, towering over the spectators before opening fire. Horror fills him at the sight. Whatever else the average Sakarian was, he was sure they didn't deserve to die like that. The screams rise in volume as he imagines people frantically trying to escape certain death. The Grandmaster's face covers every available screen, expression tight and displeased by this turn of events, and is projected even across the sides of various buildings. His voice echoes down alleyways and fills the city with his shock and rage. 

“Loyal Sakarians! I implore you to take to the skies! Your city is under attack, don’t let these intruders escape!” 

“Fuck,” Valkyrie breathes. She can see the damage better than them, sat higher in the sky. “What is that?” 

Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention and he curses loudly at Lang’s retreating form. 

“Shit!” He takes off after him. “We need to finish this now! Whatever it is that’s happening they’ll have ships in the air in minutes. They’ll shred anything that doesn’t belong to him.” 

“He’s making a beeline for the skiff,” Valkyrie informs them. James can see it, as he follows Lang. Maybe a hundred feet ahead at the edge of the garbage heap, well away from the nearest portal dropping debris, but still close enough that he could get to it in order to escape. If he got to his ship he’d be gone in under 5 minutes. The skiff was so small it was easily mistaken for the same debris steadily falling from the skies. The Grandmaster’s fleet would be after something much larger. 

“Drop down on it, Val!” James suggests. 

“We won’t be able to scrap it!” Carol snaps, annoyed at the loss of income. 

“The purse from Lang is worth it,” Val agrees, already speeding overhead. 

“Alright, just make sure he’s clear.” 

“Of course, Captain,” the pilot purrs in response. 

They follow him, separating again to sweep in on either side of him. He's maybe 50 feet away from his ship when the Warbird descends in a controlled vertical drop, engines screaming as she lands right on top of the skiff, crushing the roof and sending metal parts flying.

Lang is so startled he lets out a scream and jerks backwards falling to the ground and kicking up dirt and gravel in his effort to roll back to his feet. He scrambles on unsteady legs and James can see the fear in his eyes when he turns about, seeking a new direction, always on the hunt for another way out. That look of fear intensifies when Carol advances on him, skin glowing with radiated energy. James doesn’t even blame the man. He’d practically pissed his pants the first time Carol powered up in front of him. Though she loathes to use her abilities, they do make for a great distraction tactic. Lang’s too freaked out to notice James slipping behind him but he sure does when James presses the muzzle of his side arm to the back of his neck. 

“Aw, come on!” 

“Drop the pack and maybe I don’t let my friend here fry you to a crisp as a nice little gift for the first salvage tribe that finds you. They’re always looking for a filling meal,” James growls. Carol bares her teeth at them in a frankly terrifying smile when combined with her powers. 

“Really, you’d leave another terran to cannibals?” 

“I will if you don’t drop the fucking pack so we can leave,” James snaps. “It’s over Lang.” 

Lang whines when he unhooks the pack and it drops to the ground. With a solid kick James bats it away. Carol stalks forward, photon energy seeping back into her skin, with a smirk as she passes. 

“Good boy,” she says as she straps it her back. 

It’s short work to have the man cuffed and onto the ship. Not a moment too soon they’re airborne and flying straight for the nearest portal that will take them to their contact. Behind them are dozens of ships in the air, James has the feed pulled up on his screen just outside of the Warbird’s holding area where they’ve stowed Lang. The red and gold ship maneuvers incredibly well as the fighters come barreling toward it. It’s impossibly fast, thrusters kicking into high gear as it swings around to fire back at them with larger blasts. The fighters have poor form, they’re not military trained but seem to rely on numbers to intimidate their enemies. It doesn’t work. The larger photon blasts take out two to three ships at a time while they fly in such a tight formation. 

He can already pinpoint several instances where a more loose formation would have served them better, giving the other ship too many targets to focus on at once. As if they can hear him, the remaining dozen or so ships start to do just that, dodging in to fire just as the other ship focuses on another, spreading themselves out in an arc and constantly moving. 

The other ship takes a beating for only a few seconds, guns silent under the assault. James frowns and leans closer, wondering just what the hell the other ship is waiting for when one ship suddenly explodes, then another. His eyes narrow, having not seen the other ship fire. The fighters turn, almost all at once and begin firing in the opposite direction. There’s something, he can’t quite make out, small but flying fast towards the red ship and gone in the next second. _What the hell was that?_

“Enhance,” James demands. The onboard computer chirps and complies, the image sharpens. The ship begins firing again but there’s definitely more guns this time, rapidly taking apart the remaining fighters, leaving behind fiery debris as the thrusters engage. The Warbird trembles and the transmission cuts out. He grips the wall and clicks his heels against the floor to engage his gravboots and only relaxes once he’s firmly rooted to the floor. 

“Hang tight,” Valkyrie’s voice comes over the comms. “This portal isn’t ideal, we’re going to have to go through a couple of jumps!” 

Beyond the door he can hear Lang cursing up a blue streak. 

“Should have left me to the damn cannibals, I hate jumps!” 

\----

“Hull repair?” Valkyrie asks later that night while they let the autopilot get them through open space. They’re sitting at one of the many tables in the Mess, bottles of ale between them scattered along with the mostly empty dishes from their meal. There’s a flicker of lights lining the walls that reminds him he needs to take a look into the wiring again. He catalogues it with the many projects he’s been meaning to get on for the past few months. 

“Less than an hour tops once we dock at Knowhere,” James tells her. 

He’s been pushing around the green sludge in his bowl. He never thought he’d be aching for the bar food there but they’ve run low on supplies and while the synthesized algae provides the nutrients they need, it tastes terrible. He dashes some salt on what’s left and stirs while Carol updates them on Lang’s condition. Out like a light. She thinks he plans on escaping with or without the package sometime after they land. He assumes they're landing to make the trade. Not an altogether foolish assumption but still wrong. 

“Wouldn’t you? If AIM were hot on your trail?”

“I’d never get caught stealing from them in the first place,” Valkyrie answers haughtily. “It’s not worth it these days.” 

At that Carol smiles and it’s so different from that sharpg grin she gave Lang on Sakaar that James is taken aback. Sweet and filled with awe as Valkyrie shoots her a look over the rim of her bottle and a quirk of her lips. 

“Do you think it was him?” Valkyrie asks, eyebrows waggling. The casualties have been counted and released to the public. 11 injured, all expected to recover with two men taken, both high level executives within Roxxon Shipping, names yet to be released. 

“Could have been. None of our business though,” Carol tells them, voice going hard. “Anyone asks we were long gone before the attack. The last thing we need is SHIELD poking their noses in our business. Think you can fudge the logs?” 

James rears back feeling quite offended at his abilities being doubted until she gives him one of her wide shit eating grins. James rolls his eyes, rearing back and picking up their plates to deposit them in the wash. 

“I’ll take the night shift,” James says. 

“Sure you don’t want to rest?” Carol asks bluntly. At the sink James tenses, shoulders drawing tight, dropping the dishes into the basin loudly. “You’ve taken the last three weeks of night shifts and you hardly sleep during the day.” 

“Don’t need it,” he answers sharply. He starts rinsing them, ever hopeful that she’ll just drop the matter with the ensuing awkward silence. He and Carol have been friends ever since she and Valkyrie fished him out of a bar on one of the border colonies six years ago. They rarely fight and when they do it’s always about the same things. 

“Those rings under your eyes tell another story.”

“Just drop it, Carol.” 

“You won’t do any of us any good if you collapse--” 

“Okay, that’s a little dramatic don’t you think?” 

“Is it? Were you really just distracted by the blast out there or was it something else? I’ve seen you catch faster runners than Lang. You’re tired Jim, take a break. I have the night shift.” 

“I’ll rest after the job is done!” 

“And as your Captain I order you to take the rest of the night off!” 

“Enough!” Valkyrie shouts over both of them. 

“Neither of you is taking the damn shift. I am. So both of you can hash out your bullshit and go the fuck to sleep.” 

She trails her fingertips across Carol’s shoulder on her way out and the door hisses shut behind her. 

“It’s been nearly 8 years now, James,” Carol says with a sigh. “He’d want you to move on.” 

He wants to tell her she’s wrong. That’s her situation not his. At least she got to see the bodies of her wife and daughter. She buried them before she was captured by the Kree. For him, Tony was there one second, bright eyed and alive, and gone the next. Lost and alone even with his suit. Every single one of his CO’s wrote him off but indulged James’ search as long as they could while still reminding him of the words in his own report. Tony’s mech suit had 18 hours of oxygen attached and an emergency transmitter. It was untested for the effects of long term radiation from the nebula the station was built in longer than 6 hours. 19 hours into his search they were already convinced he was looking for a dead man. 

James scratches at his neck feeling around for the telltale bump of the subdermal two way transmitter he and Tony took turns installing when they found out they were headed to different dorms. As usual the system comes online with a series of lyrical beeps only he can hear and then there’s nothing but static. 

It’s been so long since he last heard his voice rambling in his ear. He's begun to forget the precise sound. 

Carol looks at him with worry in her eyes. 

“I used to feel guilty about it, too, you know,” she says.

Without another word he walks out. He won't be able to sleep tonight and probably won’t for the next several nights after the memorial airs tomorrow. They took everything from him when he left the Alliance. It’s the one time a year he gets to see and hear him again. How can he miss it? 

\-----

The thing is, James Rhodes has never really had a taste for places like Knowhere. Every surface is covered with at least seven different layers of grime even after they've been washed. It's the kind of dirt that climbs into the crevices of every surface and makes a home there like it belongs. The streets are always crowded, no matter the time of day as if time doesn't really exist there; because it really doesn't. It's always static in that way. Never changing. No seasons. No daylight to wake to, just endless night and the creatures that frequent popular haunts. 

It's not really a place to make a living or even put down roots, though some do in their own way in temporary dwellings. James, for all his dreams of exploration and adventure, likes the constance of a home. A single point to which he can return over and over, marking the changes unique and beautiful in their own way. 

The fine laugh lines around his mother's mouth or the greys sneaking past his father's temples. The sudden richness of his sister's laugh from the girlish lilt he was accustomed to hearing over subspace. He catalogued and hoarded them for those days when service was difficult and home seemed like a distant memory. 

Tony on the other hand, loved this place and all of its squalor, so different from the higher society he was raised in. They'd come out of uniform, on leave with pockets full of credits for spare parts Tony was hunting down. He would watch wide whiskey brown eyes light up at each shop, excitedly dragging him along from stall to stall, until they were both so tired they retired to one of the few higher end hotel rooms. The perks of being the sons of affluent Alliance citizens meant at least a clean bed and high pressure showers. The rest of the evening either spent in bed, James's favorite, or posted up in the grungiest bar they could find, Tony's favorite and James's close second. 

It amazed him how much the young engineer slid right into place amongst the system's most prolific degenerates, posh demeanor almost completely nonexistent except for the top shelf liquor he prefered to synthale. The image of watching him, leaned close into James's side with an arm slung over his shoulders, the pilot's thumb tracing the outline of his collarbone through his shirt, tossing back drinks like no tomorrow is so etched in his memories that it's hard not to see him there next to him even now. 

A Xandarian sits next to James now, back on the bar, the glow of his pink skin coming off garish in the harsh yellow lighting. He cackles irritatingly loud at something his partner says on his right, something crude James doesn't fully catch but gets the gist of when he sees their eyes have landed on a small Vophrai server across the bar. Their voices set his jaw and he grinds his teeth together in an effort to not do what he's come here to do. What Carol disapproves of and Valkyrie understands more than probably either of them. 

He's been with them for 4 years now and each year on the twelfth of May he makes the journey here, whether they're headed this way or not, with Carol's disappointment and Val's blessing. He sits in the one lone Alliance friendly bar and listens to the conversations, feels the hum of the atmosphere beneath his feet, watches the holo screens flicker from advertisements to sporting events and eventually to the memorial of the Asterion massacre. 

_\--2 hours after the Ambassador arrived on board the first missiles were fired upon the station beginning an attack that would last 45 minutes and cost over 112 lives, including that of former Chief Weapons Developer, Howard Stark, Ambassador Maria Stark, and their son Anthony Edward Stark. In the next hour--_

  


He watches the names scroll by one by one, scientists, researchers, security that didn't stand a chance against the onslaught. The Jarvises usually set his blood to a low boil. He hates not just that he failed them but how much. When they reach Howard Stark and Maria, his fingers tighten so hard on the metal cup it starts to bend into his palm. 

By the time he notices the slick blood coating his hands, Tony's face flashes before him, gorgeous as ever. They chose a younger picture of him this year. Not the standard one of him in his Alliance uniform, no, they've gone into the archives and produced a photo of their Academy days. He's in a too big jumpsuit, left unzipped with the arms tied around his waist.

James is in it too, wearing the first flight suit he has ever received. He’s sitting on top of a set of stacked crates with Tony leaned back between his knees. His face is cropped out leaving him nameless. Their friend Bruce took that photo. It was apart of his private effects when James deserted. His breathing is coming hard and fast now.  _ How dare they? _

It's not a surprise that they do this. That they use them for sympathy. They don't mention James Rhodes by name. They haven't since he left. He's sure someone out there thinks it's a part of his punishment. He's ashamed when he turns to the man on his right, fist balled, anger and regret singing in his veins only to find a redheaded terran seated there instead. Even the man's companion is gone, without so much as a word as if they'd never been there at all. 

He blinks at her, blood still pooling on the bar top. Green eyes slip over him almost like a caress. Meant to be gentle but still unnerving as if assessing his very existence. Red lips curl into a smile and just like that the look is gone, replaced with something soft and flirtatious. His rage dials back into a simmer and he puffs out an annoyed breath and drops the cup back down to the counter with a clank. 

"Let me buy you another." 

"I'm done, actually." 

Her soft gaze stays with him even as he flags the bartender down to pay his tab. The need to get the hell out of dodge increases with every second of her staring. 

"What?" He snaps loudly, meant to make her flinch and look away but she stays the course, blinking up at him unimpressed by his posturing. The bartender is caught up with a few patrons down the way and he growls under his breath. To hell with it. He shoves away from the bar. They know where to find him to settle up. 

A small hand on his forearm stops him, deceptively strong. 

“Nick Fury would like a word,” her voice is pitched low but he still hears her. 

Ice winds its way down his spine. Fucking Fury. What more does he think he can take from him? He doesn’t have anything left for the Alliance and even less for Fury and his machinations. The old man could drop dead tomorrow and he wouldn’t shed a tear. 

“Well that's unlucky. I don’t give a shit what Fury wants.” 

Her eyes narrow and he thinks he spots anger lurking beneath her calm demeanor. He’s struck a nerve. She's probably one of those true believers. How unfortunate.

"You're not like he said," she strikes one right back.

He goes to jerk out of her grasp but there's something hard poking into his other side, the hum of a blaster sending terrifying vibrations dancing across his skin. He glances towards the door, he's not that far away, if he can shake them he can disappear into the crowded streets and backtrack to the Warbird. They’ve already collected the bounty, 300,000 credits less without Lang but there was nothing holding them here except for minor repairs and the lure of a good night’s sleep.. 

He inhales deeply then exhales slowly to steady himself. Somehow the man who’s circled around to stand behind him can feel it, he shifts, foot coming just inside James's legs. James reads his intent. That tiny amount of precognition afforded by the serum. He pivots in the opposite direction, leg sweeping back to connect with the man’s knee. The gun clacks against the floor and there's shout of pain that on any other day James might feel badly about, what with the protruding bone and all. Or he would if these people weren't soldiers for the Alliance. 

The way the woman is up and wrapped around him with unnatural strength, the wristlet she wears pressed to the left side of his neck, pressing solidly on his transmitter, has that notion going up in smoke. 

He'll heal. They all will. That's what makes it easy to lean into the shock of her stunners, the transmitter sparks beneath his skin but also prevents him from feeling the worst of it. He relaxes his frame enough for her to try and ride him to the ground. It's there that he snatches the man's rifle, modified Stark Tech with its titanium alloy frame, from the ground and jams the butt back into her chest so hard there's an audible crack and wheeze amid the noise of the bar. People are starting to take notice, cheering at the prospect of a fight to liven up the night. 

He charges the weapon up and takes aim at them. The redhead clutches her side while her companion, a rather muscular brunette man sends him a death glare while gritting his teeth against the pain. 

James backs out of the bar as quickly as possible, keeping an eye on any quick movements until he reaches the threshold, turns tail and runs. 

\---

There’s no response from the Warbird when he tries to hail them. It shouldn’t worry him. Carol is Carol and Val is an Asgardian, over 1500 years old if her drunken ramblings are to be believed. What could Fury possibly do to them? 

He takes several varied routes to scout the perimeter just to be sure he’s clear before approaching. For all he knows Carol and Valkyrie have turned in for the night and just aren’t keen on being interrupted. They wouldn’t expect to hear from him until what passes for morning here. There’s a throbbing pain in his neck that hasn’t subsided into familiar itchiness. He should be healing by now and the pain should be muted. 

Worry knots itself along with the adrenaline rushing through him. He didn’t get to take much with him when he left aside from the clothes on his back. James yanks the sleeve of his jacket up and slides the pad of his thumb down his forearm, heart hammering behind his ribcage. He jolts into action when the display appears, projecting his blood pressure, BPM, O2 levels, and general summary of health on a small diagram. Oh God, what if he can’t fix it? He taps the diagram and pulls up the transmitter in his neck, running a diagnostic then flashing red. He hisses out a curse, it’s not irreparable damage but he doesn’t have the time to worry about it now. He taps the right side of his arm and the display fades. 

The hangar is full of every kind of ship from galaxy cruisers to busted up rust buckets worth less than their adamantium hulls and yet the area is quiet. The ramp to the Warbird is down. Not a good sign. Carol is paranoid on the best of days having lived a significant portion of her life on the run. She takes the security of her ship seriously. Almost on a deadly level that her equally deadly partner agrees with. He feels a frisson of fear go through him even as he slinks across the hangar and creeps up the ramp as lightly as he can. 

With the ship powered down everything is silent as well it should be. He still can't shake the feeling that something is amiss. He hates this kind of thing. Skulking around in the shadows. Give him a target to hit or a building to blow up and he's right as rain. 

He checks his living quarters, side arm drawn as he enters, then the Captain's quarters and finds nothing. Nothing quite out of place but no sign of his crewmates either. There's still the infirmary and the mess on the way to the bridge but those turn up empty as well. It's when he's finishing up in the infirmary that he hears them. The low murmur of voices from the bridge, Carol's lower register and Valkyrie's irritated snarl. 

He turns the corner and is unable to do anything other than blink in disbelief at what he sees. Valkyrie has her knee jammed harshly into the spine of a rather large blond man who continues to struggle, clearly enraged at having been caught. Fed up with his wriggling she draws one of her prized Uru blades from her boot and brings it to his neck in warning. 

“I wouldn’t,” she says, he bucks against her and the sharp blade breaks his skin, small droplets forming in its wake. Carol on the other hand has a gun to the head of one Nick Fury, seated calmly in the Captain’s chair with his hands resting atop his crossed legs. In a word he looks bored and it’s only when he catches sight of James edging into the room, weapon drawn that he perks up in the slightest.

“How nice of you to join us, Captain Rhodes,” he says giving him that same self assured smile that led James into more than one battle. James does nothing but charge his weapon. 

“We need to talk,” Fury says nonplussed. As is being held at gunpoint is just a regular afternoon for him. From what he remembers of Fury before he left, it’s entirely possible that’s what the universe has come to. In which case he really wants to complain to whoever held a gun to his head last and ask them why they left it to James to finish the job. 

“I see your lips moving.” 

“Cute,” Fury says, irritatingly smug. “I think we’d do better if we were both seated.” 

“I have nothing to say to you, Nick. I thought I made that pretty fucking clear when you all but ran me out of my home.” 

“I saved your life,” he argues back. “But that’s another conversation.” 

“What is this a social call? Are you lonely, Nick? Did you betray that last sad sack willing enough to trust you and now you have no one to listen to your lies?” 

“I wish it were,” Fury answers. Expression suddenly more open. He glances away from where Rhodes is standing down to the man on the floor. “Stand down Rogers. This might take a while.” 

“From where we’re standing it actually looks like it’ll all be over rather quickly. Do take care not to bleed on the chair, she likes that chair. We're endeavouring to keep it blood free for at least a month ” Valkyrie says, not easing up. 

Fury chuckles. “I would too if I had Kree blood running through my veins. It’s a bitch to clean up.” 

Neither of them gasp but it’s a near thing. 

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe for now. We’re not after you. We’re here for him.” 

“Finally come back to take me to my execution, Nick? You should know I’ve rejected the last few invitations. Scheduling problems, you understand.” 

“I understand that you were present last night during Iron Man’s attack on Sakaar.” 

“So what if we were?” 

“Lang is one of ours, an independent contractor if you will, and he’s already reported in. You're welcome on the bounty by the way.” 

“You set this up?” Valkyrie glares at him, skeptical. “Why would you pay us for that?” 

“Let’s just say, we thought you three could use a win. And we needed Captain Rhodes here.” 

“I’m not playing your games Fury, either get to the point or become a permanent if prominent piece of decor on this bridge.” 

“I’m sure you’re aware that after Howard Stark died many of his labs went into a sort of protective mode. The staff were admirably loyal. Didn’t help them much, though.” 

His jaw locks so hard it hurts. The image of Edwin Jarvis slumped against a wall with a hole between his eyes still features prominently in his nightmares always asking why he couldn’t even do the one thing he’d asked of him. 

"Anyway," Fury continues, dour as ever. "There were some 15 labs and storage depots left unaccounted for. We are now down to 7." 

"Congratulations, you've found half," James says drily. 

Fury fixes him with a one eyed glare. 

"We've found none," Fury tells him. And that _is_ interesting. The depots were part myth made reality after his death and had Alliance officials in a frenzy. As their primary weapons developer there were countless projects of Howard Stark’s yet to be discovered but without the coordinates or security codes many of them were lost. His paranoia was a longstanding concern near the end though ultimately proven to be well founded in James's opinion. Just not from where he expected. 

"So, what's that got to do with us?" Carol asked, curiosity getting the best of her. 

"Oh make no mistake Captain Danvers," Fury says smugly. "While you and your partner are infinitely more interesting, I wasn't lying." 

He inclines his head in James's direction confirming his suspicions. 

"It's him I need," he tells them. 

"Yeah, not interested." 

"You will be when you see this," a new voice has him tensing all over. It's the woman from the bar, not a hair out of place coming to stand beside him. In her hands is a tablet. "Take a look, we'll wait." 

He's reluctant to do so. He's struck by how comfortable he's become. With this ship and belatedly this family of three. It's not home, could never be, but it's the closest he's come over the years. Whatever is on that tablet is something that will alter his chosen course and he finds that he wants no part of it. He shakes his head. 

"I'm dishonorably discharged," he says. 

"And your charges will be cleared upon completion of this mission. The cover story is already set. You'll be a hero again," the woman tells him, self assured. Like she knows him. Fury senses the fuck up just as James screws up his face in disgust. 

"It's an old Stark code. Embedded in a signal we've been receiving for the past two years proceeding every attack by the Iron Man terrorist. Embedded very deeply, rolling encryption. Very familiar if you know what to look for." 

His blood boils. 

"You just can't help yourselves can you? He’s been missing for 8 years and you can’t even find it in yourselves to let him rest. Not even in memory?”

“Now James,” Fury seems to realize too late that he’s misstepped. 

“I think you’ve heard his answer,” Carol says, eager to let it be over and get as far away from here as they can. ”Get the hell off my ship.” 

“You gonna cause any problems for me?” Valkyrie asks the man below her. He shakes his head and she lets him up, gracefully rolling to her feet at the same time he does. Even though he clearly has several inches on her she stares up at him, expression fierce and uncowed by the flex of muscles as he shakes his arms out. 

“Didn’t know there were many Aesir operating outside of Asgard these days,” he says. Valkyrie disregards his question and moves closer to her partner, keeping herself between Carol and the others. 

“Up,” Carol nudges Fury. The older man stands never taking his eye off James. 

“Can’t tell me you haven’t noticed it,” he says and at James’s raised eyebrow he continues, “the design I mean. It’s certainly been worked over and refined into something more than a simple mech suit but the design is pure Tony.” 

Carol shrugs, looking to James for confirmation, but he can’t look away from the photos, “It could mean anything.” 

  
  


“If you think I’m wrong then we’ll leave, no muss, no fuss, I’ll keep your companions presence here under wraps as a, well we’ll call it a personal favor. But someone out there has found Howard Stark’s depots and clearly some of Tony’s work themselves. They’re out there using his designs to hurt a lot of people. I knew Tony longer than you, and I think he’d be turning over in his grave if he knew what these people had done with his work.”

“Look at it and tell me you don’t see it,” Fury says, and James hears, “How do you think they got this far?” 

He tries not to imagine people carelessly slicing into the suit to remove the body inside or yanking the arc reactor from his chest. Would they have even buried him somewhere? Or just jettisoned him into space? Was he even dead when they found him? If James had been faster, talked his way out of medical sooner, would he have found him first? He hasn’t felt so useless since those first dwindling hours of his search. Scanning and scanning empty pockets of space and failing each time. 

He snatches the tablet up and feels his world tilt right off his axis. This is low even for Nick. The images are just barely passable as clear and obviously taken from afar. It’s security footage from last night, closer than their own transmission and probably from the Grandmaster’s own personal network. The ship is familiar, red and gold gleaming in the lights of the coliseum. His breathing stutters at the next shot. It’s a suit, also red and gold, shaped like a man, a gleaming, menacing looking mask covering the face, but it’s the glowing device in the chest that shatters his calm demeanor and has the tablet slipping from his fingers. 

He fumbles it, just barely keeping it from hitting the deck. 

_“Hey, I gotta show you something,” Tony says. He rolls to his feet from their nest of discarded clothing and pulls on his coveralls and boots. He then tugs a half naked Rhodey to his feet and pulls him over to the small observation window and tells him to wait there. He’s still so dazed and breathless, legs like jelly, that he leans his head against the cool glass inhaling deeply. Tony’s been gone several minutes and he’s about to ask after him when the transmitter in his neck buzzes. He taps it and hears the light tones of it clicking on._

_“Platypus?” He sounds tinny, less like when he’s just walking around working, and more like when he’s got his head shoved into some kind of machinery. He glances around, thinking he’s still about to prank him somehow. There’s a knock on the glass that draws his attention back to the observation window. Tony’s stolen his breath away again. There he is in a sleek looking black and silver mech suit, his arc reactor shining through a port in the chest and a clear polymer mask letting him see the excitement dancing in his eyes. The pure joy of his wide smile._

_“Hey there,” he says then outright giggles. The thrusters engage and he flips before him, hovering on his stomach, palms down._

_“Hi,” James breathes, palm coming up to press into the glass. Tony meets him there pressing his forehead to the glass with a light clink. He grins, beautiful and maddening._

_“Watch me!”_

_His thrusters kick in, bright blue lights flashing in the dark of space, and he’s off, tracing the rim of the ring shaped station._

_“Make me one,” James all but demands, while watching him loop easily in the wide open space, maneuvering like no other mech suit he’s ever seen. They’re always huge and clunky, built for repair or as a human sized tank. They don’t fly, though. Not that like this. He’d give anything to be out there with his soon to be husband. Anything at all._

_“Already in the works. I couldn’t leave my Honeybear behind!”_

James remembers thinking that he’d always been worried about that. Tony was always racing ahead of him, incapable of staying still. Always turning away from the static dull type of stagnancy that tended to weigh him down about Howard’s methods. He knew that someday he’d outpace them all and as he stares down at the images, flipping through one by one of the ship and the suit he can’t help but feel angry that he never got the chance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think! And if you haven't already definitely check out  JarvisUandDUMEtoo 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year into his search he learns not to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* Hope everyone had a good holiday if you celebrate and an awesome week otherwise!

Carol isn’t happy about it. Valkyrie even less so. 

James is less than ecstatic about it either but he can’t shake the thought of that suit, now that he knows that it is a suit, that is. He’s not naïve. He’s told himself this about a dozen times since boarding the Avenger. 

It’s been years. 

Tony’s original suit was just a prototype, first and only model, not even meant for long term use. Designed to help him get into tight spots along the ring outside the station for repairs. It only had 18 hours or so of oxygen and that’s assuming he survived the short term effects of being out in the nebula. The Ravagers fired on anything leaving the station, that’s why so few escape pods made it out of the chaos. 

All facts supported that Tony was gone. That he’d likely died if not from enemy fire than from any number of things including oxygen deprivation or radiation poisoning. 

The facts were that he couldn’t let go of the simplest one of all. There was no debris. There was no body. He’d scoured the nebula and surrounding sectors with nothing to show for it but burned resources and growing skepticism about his mental state. 

He couldn’t quite explain it beyond the obvious. 

Tony would do it for him. He’d never stop looking until he could bring James home. That was just the way he was. Unerringly stubborn. Always working the problem until he figured it out. 

Tony would do the same for him, and James had given up. 

He closes his eyes tightly as he watches the Warbird jump away, supposedly to another space station, but James knows better. They maintained a permanent residence on Prax under aliases, a border planet on the opposite end of Alliance territory, furthest away from the Kree they could get. They’d jump to TH-15 briefly to refuel and not even stay the night, just moving on to the next jump, throwing off any Alliance scents until it was safe enough to return home for a while. 

He’s left alone outside the cargo bay after boarding. He’d found out that the woman who attacked him in the bar was one Colonel Natasha Romanoff and the man Valkyrie had held a blade to was Captain Steve Rogers. Both living legends in their own right based on the usual hearsay between soldiers. War heroes. 

Rumor had it they were some of the first surviving recipients of the original super soldier serum created by the Alliance to help curb the losses after the war with the Chitauri. From which they’d barely survived. Scientific development has been at the forefront of their operations ever since, driving them, the human race in particular, faster and further than ever before. Enough, he supposes, to start looking towards threats on the horizon. Like the Kree empire, ever expanding closer to their borders.

It’s no surprise that the Alliance was amping up the search for Howard Stark’s secret labs and depots. They truly thought there was a weapon in there that could save them from the vast might of the Kree. Using the research of the man they murdered to save them. Just another day. 

Romanoff directs him to the bridge but James takes the longest way possible. He’s familiar with this type of vessel. The STR-87 was top of the line when he graduated. He’s never piloted one but he’s served aboard the Cobalt for his first posting out of the Academy. 

The ship’s familiar inky black walls greeted him, always sleek and shiny. The build was robust but small, keeping a complement of 10-20 but able to be ran with less than that in a pinch. He draws his fingertips across the panels outside every door on his way.

Tony didn’t build it personally but he can still remember the shapes his hands made as he perfected pieces of the design at home. The stealth capabilities and the speed were the real treats though.

The STR-87 was much faster than even the Warbird, shaving days off of a trip meant to take a week. Sensor array had a much broader and longer range for use while cloaked and the cloaking technology phased to match sensor scans of enemy ships. It was damn near impossible to suss out. 

In a combat situation mere seconds of being unable to locate a ship could mean the difference between life and death. With this ship, there wasn’t a snowball's chance in hell that others out there could find them before they fired the first shot. Walking the halls, passing by the updated but still familiar deep red and silver Infinity Corps uniforms, takes him back to some of his first days as an officer. 

How proud he’d been to button up his grey dress uniform on formal occasions, or slip into his duty uniform during his time in the field, always brimming with purpose. That sense of being apart of something greater than himself that had shrivelled up the further he got in his investigation. 

The bridge is even more gorgeous than he remembers. He hates to admit that he’s missed this. There’s a half a dozen people on board but up until now he’s seen at least a dozen more between the cargo bay and here. He’d wager about 20 on board with him, then. Small crews meant more work but for Fury he’d bet it meant less loose lips. After all, it's easy to pick out the traitor in a line up of 20 vs 200. 

Rogers stands, looking over the shoulder of a dark skinned man that sat in the pilot's chair. The pilot's fingers fly over the controls with such ease he's reminded of long days spent watching Val or Carol doing the same. It hits him then that he doesn't know when or if he'll see them again and something within him aches fiercely at the prospect. He's never really been able to come up with the words to properly thank them for taking him in and even more for not promptly throwing him out on his ear. 

"Cloak activated, course laid in," the pilot confirms. 

"Fantastic, Sam. Keep me updated," Rogers answers, warmly with a squeeze to the other man’s shoulder. 

He turns to James, looks him up and down in that way all Alliance soldiers do when they recognize him. Always searching for that boy from the old sitrep transmissions shortly after the attack and the two bloody years spent after that. 

The hero that against all odds protected the Alliance's interests aboard Asterion station from a blood thirsty Ravager gang. One man against the some 50 enemy combatants that murdered over a hundred loyal Alliance citizens doing their duty. Nevermind that it was all bullshit,that several other security personnel helped before they were put down or that Tony had taken out 18 of them by himself in one fell swoop. 

No, that wasn't the story. The carefully crafted story released to the public was that James alone outlasted every Ravager to keep them from accessing and stealing Alliance tech while also rescuing Obadiah Stane from capture. 

How was he supposed to tell them that he cut a swath through the dozen or so men left just to be able to board a ship and search for Tony? That his patriotism flew right out the window the same moment Tony was spaced? They know part of it. Or at least he thinks that they do. It's always there in the disappointment that finally rests in their eyes after all of their searching. 

It used to bother him. 6 years ago he would have picked a fight, spoiling to break something so he wouldn't be the only one chipped and cracked. Now he just stares back, unwilling to be cowed but also not prepared to become friendly either. 

"Rhodes," Rogers is cool and professional if not a little bit irritated at the situation. "Welcome aboard the Avenger. Your file says you were stationed briefly on the Cobalt under Fury?" 

"Gold star for record keeping," James mutters. Some things were just more accurate than others. Rogers' glare seems to intensify. There's a little pinch of the skin between his brows that marks his rising irritation along with the flush across his cheeks. He doesn’t want him here. James can understand that. He doesn’t exactly want to be here either. 

James clears his throat awkwardly under his narrow eyed gaze. More and more he's finding what amused Tony so much about getting under the skin of his CO. 

"We’re taking a huge risk bringing you in.” 

“Well, as Fury is fond of saying ‘Orders are orders. There for good soldiers to follow.’ Or not, depends on which way the wind is blowing, orhose side he’s decided to pick. It varies, you’ll see.” 

"That's real nice coming from someone like you. " 

"Someone like me?" James tips his head to the side in mock confusion. 

"Bounty hunter, mercenary, traitor." 

Ah yes, there it is. That self righteous indignation that’s become old hat by now. Like they think he owes them something like an apology. Nevermind that he gave up everything. He grins at the stern set of the Captain’s jaw, the work he seems to be putting in to keep himself in check. "You know, we as a community prefer retrieval specialist now. Sounds more professional on a resume.” 

"Why don't we just call it what it is? You're a criminal Rhodes. Even worse, you deserted your post and fled Alliance justice. You were a hero. Almost single handedly shut down the Ravager criminal network. And to think I actually wanted to meet you. I wonder if I'd have been as disappointed then as I am now?" 

"I'm here to do a job, Rogers. A job for which I will be handsomely paid. I could give a fuck what this means for the Alliance or for you for that matter. I'm going to find out who's been bastardizing Tony's work and I'm going to help put them in the ground. Then I'll be on my way and so will you."

"This mission is of the utmost importance. Besides that, I'd think you would be much more concerned. After all, it is your ticket back into the fold. I'd be more grateful, all things considered. You get to go home." 

James bares his teeth at the man. Fingers curling into his palms from where he's clasped them behind his back. The muscles in his arms twitch from how hard he's holding on to that tenuous bit of control keeping him from outright swinging at the man. A foolish choice considering he's on the man's bridge surrounded by his crew. Subconsciously he weighs whether a potential gunshot wound would be worth the utmost satisfaction of wiping that smug look off his face. 

He exhales on a whistle and steps forward, noting the silence on the bridge and how many hands come to rest close to side arms all around him. He has no friends here and yet he still smiles, a cheerful echo of Tony's shit eating grin designed to piss just about anyone off. 

"There's no such thing as home for me now. Your good friends made sure of that," he says. "Now, I think I'll find my way to my quarters." 

He moves to step past him, ignoring the confusion his words have elicited on his way to the lift. He taps the call button and, as he waits, casts a look over his shoulder at the still frozen bridge. 

"A word of advice, Rogers," he says, reveling in the flash of annoyance in Rogers’ eyes at the lack of title when he turns to face him. "Don't think just because you've read a few words on a screen means you know a single fucking thing about me." 

The lift chimes and the door slides open for him to step inside. He doesn't let his face fall until the door closes.

\-----

The on board computer is useful considering it tells him there's only a few empty sets of quarters left available on the Avenger. One of which he assumes is meant to be his and is likely bugged to all hell. The one he's been assigned is the smallest of the bunch, possibly meant to signify his place on the ship's hierarchy. 

He hasn't slept in a room that small since his academy days and rolls his eyes at the displayed layout. Closest to the brig. Who does Rogers think he's fooling? 

With a flick of his wrist he locates another, more suited to his tastes, on the engineering deck, close to the jump drive and engines, and incidentally the nine or so escape pods stationed near the cargo bay. 

It's simple to utilize old command codes to change his lot on board. Lazy fuckers hadn't changed all that much over the years. 

During the whole trip down he doesn't come across more than a handful of crewmates. It's a welcome relief. He could do without seeing another living soul for the rest of the night. He reaches his new quarters and sighs gratefully when the door hisses shut behind him and seals. He drops his pack to the floor and leans against it, a sort of bone weary exhaustion creeping over him at last. 

If Carol could see him now she'd cuff him over the back of the head with an "I told you so" on her tongue. He rolls his neck trying to eek out the stiffness then winces, remembering the transmitter. His eyes widen in panic, any exhaustion pushed away as he scrambles to press against the device. He can still feel the bump beneath the skin but the knot twisting inside his gut wrenches viciously when there's no answering tone. Nothing at all. 

His breath is coming fast and hard, rattling in his chest. He presses again, harder this time then harder again groaning at the sting. The transmitter is full of biocomponents that had integrated further with his body when he received the serum, an oversight on their part when they had them installed. It should heal just like the rest of him. His fingers dig bruises into the flesh at his neck even as his heart sinks and a wave of nausea overtakes him. He just makes it to the lavatory before he's on his knees retching until he's left panting. 

It's gone. Oh God it's gone. He lifts his head and the room tilts sideways, causing him to shut his eyes tight against the sight, dropping his forehead to the rim of the toilet bowl. James draws in several deep shuddering breaths in an attempt to calm himself and it feels like it works for a second until it hits him again. Eyes brimming with tears he feels hot all over with dread. 

It's all he has left. He didn't get to bring anything else when he escaped the strike team sent to apprehend him. What if he can't fix it? Besides, even if he did fix it, who would he talk to? A corpse? He flops back onto his ass with his back against the wall, head tilted back and lolling to the side as he instinctively rubs against the dead transmitter. 

His eyes burn and his breath catches around a sob. He inhales deeply, trying to suck it all back in and just barely succeeding, aside from a few tears rolling down his cheeks, keeping it up until he can manage to even out his breathing. It lasts for a good minute, while he gets his feet back under him and stumbles to the main room, roots around his bag with a dozen different curses on his lips, tearing out items and scattering them on the bed. His hand closes around a rolled set of precision tools and he lets out a shuddering sigh of relief that he’d thought to bring them at all. 

The bundled up tools thunk against the metal sink where he drops them, inhaling deeply again, this time in resignation. It’s not a priority. It shouldn't. It really hasn’t been in years though he maintains the upkeep constantly out of habit. At first it had been the slim chance of Tony’s survival keeping him from letting the transmitter just sit broken and useless in its own little bed of scar tissue and muscle. 

He pulls out his tools with trembling fingers, unfolding the bundle in the bathroom sink then sets the mirror over it at a good enough angle to give him a nice view of the damage. The skin around the transmitter is healing at least, the bruising looking days old instead of freshly red. His heart rate has slowed, now that he has a solution at hand, panic receding to a swell of determination. 

He can fix this. As he brings the laser scalpel to his neck there’s a little voice in the back of his head that reminds him. He’s repairing antiquated tech meant for only one futile purpose. After all, there’s no one on the other end of the line anymore. 

He sniffs, eyeing the spot on his neck with intense scrutiny before he inhales deeply then clicks the scalpel on.

——--

The blood doesn’t bother him. He’s seen too much of it over a decade of service and eight more on the run for it to have much of an effect. 

Once he’s opened up a two inch long cut, he’s able to use the display in his arm to root out the damage. From there it’s tedious work of switching between using surgical micro forceps to clamp around the device and the scalpel to slice through the scar tissue to cut it free. The smell is awful, burnt skin always is, and it burns something fierce but the tools help. He’s not using the same subpar tools he had access to in his first years scrambling to find his way outside of the safety of his old life.

Still, blood loss is blood loss and he sways on his feet about halfway through. Not being in peak condition is definitely a hindrance. With one hand he grips the edge of the sink and leans into it, still slicing bit by bit until the transmitter is mostly free. From here he can see the problem more clearly. The connector between the transmitter and the port is fried. It’ll take tedious work maybe a about an hour or so if he can stay standing. He snorts and that tumbles into a giggle that rolls right into outright belly quaking laughter. 

He can do it. The serum in his blood was designed to help keep him standing for hours on end while bleeding out. It’s not really designed to make him better. Oh, no, he realized that far too late into his career. It’s designed to get the Alliance the most bang for their credits out of their prized assets. And here he was using it perform very likely unrecommended surgery on himself to fix a device that for all intents and purposes is a direct line to a dead person. Blinking away tears he steadies himself again. It’s going to be a long night, but he can’t stop now. 

James loses track of time just counting his own breaths with each tiny slice until he can pull the device free and slap a clotting bandage on the wound. He’ll have to wait a few hours after he’s healed to reinsert but it does give him ample time to repair the transmitter. 

It rests in the palm of his hand, no longer than the pad of his thumb and just as wide, with a fifteen millimeter connector on the bottom that’s charred black underneath the blood. Speaking of which, he swipes at the sluggish droplets still trying to make their way to his collarbone. Probably should have removed his shirt but hadn’t thought of it at the time. Now the grey of his shirt is a damp and ruddy looking red, looking much more grimmy than it is. 

He tugs at it with a grimace, lost in his irritation, and swaying on his feet he jumps at the sound of his door hissing open and shut and scrambles for his gun, slick fingers barely able to grip it properly as he inches forward. The adrenaline shocks him into further awareness. 

"Whoah," a man appears hands raised. James squints under the bright lights, heart still pounding rapidly. It's the crooked smile that does it more than anything. He watches the man nose his glasses up and come to a stop just inside the doorway. 

"Bruce?" He breathes not quite believing his own eyes. 

Hand still raised the other man waves with just a wiggle of his fingers. 

"Yeah, it's me pal," Bruce says. James’ hand shakes, rattling the gun, but he still doesn't drop it. "I guess it's been a while. Need some help?" 

James drops his hand to his side and flicks the safety back on with a flick of his thumb. Hardly able to believe his eyes. 

\----

Two weeks into the search, Stane comes to him about declaring Tony legally deceased. The majority of the Stark estate would revert to Obadiah once the lawyers confirm the death certificate. 

James holds out for 6 months before the other man appeals to the courts. It all comes down to the private labs Howard kept that held all of the work he didn't work on during his day job. Things that he owned or was curious about. Or that were deemed too dangerous to be released. 

While the remaining Stark run government labs were being sought by the military, Stane knew, or at least he thought he did, of the others. The joke was on him though. When he finally muscled his way through the law, he found the labs empty, every server ripped out and storage unit missing. 

One week later Bruce Banner stood beside him at the funeral hand squeezing his shoulder tightly on his left, his father and sister surround him on his right, while Stane buried an empty casket and stared him down from the other side. The ceremony is everything Tony hated the most about their station. 

Pomp and bullshittery he used to say. Terrible opportunities is what his politician father tells him with a pat on the back at the reception before he melts into the crown to shake hands. Only Bruce and Jeanie stayed by him the whole time. 

Stane begins a whisper campaign about him. About how he's really spending his time. As if he really thinks James is comfortable with anyone touching him so soon after. As if his apartment isn't a veritable nest of intel and leads he's been chasing down. Uncle Obie becomes Stane inside of 6 months. James only starts spitting his name in disgust one month after that. 

In the same months, he presents his evidence to his CO, Commander Nicholas J. Fury. All of his carefully constructed files on Stane's connections to the Ravagers and other unscrupulous organizations. His sudden swift dealings with AIM that aren’t just fortuitous happenstance, but carefully orchestrated. 

The mysterious Hydra code that pops up in every file. The security error that allowed a crew of Ravagers to slip past their proximity sensors. Not their usual MO of smash and grab, quick strikes meant to disable and disorient while they get away. The leak that told them where to look in the first place. He waits for Stane to go down. Goes to his mandated therapy sessions. Visits Bruce. Fights with his family about why he hasn't moved out of the home he meant to build with Tony and started to move forward with his life. He stops coming home when they start to fight about the mounting accusations and what they're doing to his father's political career.

A year into his search he learns not to hope. 

Bruce offers to help him pack up Tony's things. It's been a year he says. James takes a swing at him and regrets it later when the young scientist still answers his calls. Bruce takes his calls when the military panel tasked with looking into Stane declares his innocence. He answers when James needs him to bail him out of jail for picking a fight in a bar on New Terra. He still talks to him the day after Fury comes to him asking for his resignation. 

\----

James winces against the bright light Bruce shines in his eyes. 

"Oh would you sit still?" Bruce snaps. Except he never really raises his voice, not at James, so it comes off more like a gentle admonishment than annoyance. He purses his lips at James's baleful glare and clicks off the light with his hands up. 

"I already told you I didn't hit my head. I’m fine. Just—” 

“Performed surgery on yourself alone in a bathroom, Rhodey!”

“I had a moment, okay?" 

It would be a whole hell of a lot easier to bullshit the doctor if he were a complete stranger. As it was, Bruce stared at him and with a flat voice struck down his objections like the good friend he was. Damn him. 

"Elevated heart rate, dropping blood pressure, blood loss. Sure, just a moment. Not like there’s a whole infirmary where you could go to for such things. Oh, wait!" 

He leans close and drops his voice into a sarcasm laced conspiratorial whisper. “We’re there right now!” 

"What are you even doing here?” James scowls, unamused. “You're not even a physician." 

"Depends on the day. Sure, all you soldiers have accelerated healing but someone has to reset your bones and do all of the necessary slicing. Officially I'm a science officer and a trained medic. Just boarded last month." 

"And unofficially?" 

"Fury thought you could use a friendly face." 

"You mean he believed I needed a minder. How thoughtful." 

"He asked me to report back on your progress," Bruce admits, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He hasn't changed much since they last saw each other, aside from his hair, that is. It has grown out from the standard short academy cut into a halo of dark curls. He still wears their silver and red uniform though. 

James doesn't have the energy to sit fully upright, just sits on the exam table hunched over with his elbows on his knees staring up at him. 

"And?" James is almost afraid to ask. 

Bruce huffs a short laugh and shakes his head. 

"I told him yes," Bruce says and James sighs. "Got me on board after all." 

His gaze snaps back to Bruce's crooked smile eyebrows raised. "I said I'd report back. Never said how much or on what." 

"You don't have to do that." 

"Sure I don't." 

"Then why?" 

"Fuck Fury," Bruce says. It sounds funny coming out of his mouth. "Now, are you gonna tell me why you thought cutting yourself open was necessary?" 

James's smile is brittle, even as he uncurls his hand to reveal the damaged transmitter.

"Shit," Bruce says, with a small hitched breath. He reaches for it and James flinches away from his touch. 

"Yeah, I know." 

"Can I?" 

He tenses, shoulders drawing up instinctively to protect this one last piece before reminding himself that this was Bruce Banner. The only other person alive who might have a chance of fixing it. 

"Just a look," James agrees, forcing himself to relax. Bruce comes closer, wand scanner in hand. He passes the wand over James's shoulder and neck, bathing his skin in blue. It creates a holographic picture of the inside of his body. 

There's scar tissue, as expected. A knife jammed too close to his jugular for one. Then there's the port still functional. He does the transmitter next. A cluster of it has gone dark thanks to that jolt from Romanoff. 

"Hmm," Bruce says, tapping and turning the holo representation until he's satisfied. “Port could use updating. Hell, the whole thing could if you want to keep it.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll just replace the connector,” James waves him off. “It’s no big deal.” 

“You’re out here cutting yourself up for it,” Bruce reminds him with a displeased downturned corner of his mouth. “If I replace the wiring it could last you another decade without trouble. You don’t have to do it all alone, you know.” 

James runs the pad of his thumb across the smooth surface of the transmitter. 

“At least let me reinsert when it’s time. I know you and Tony thought it was a grand idea to do it yourselves when you were kids but—” 

“Alright, alright!” 

\-----

Bruce knows he can't keep him down for long. For one, the quicker they catch Iron Man the faster James can leave the Avenger behind. James used to be the best patient. Keeping himself on recommended bed rest no matter how twitchy it made him. Living on the run has all but drummed that out of him. 

Sometimes you can hole up somewhere and heal. Others, you have to slap a bandage on and keep moving or you die. Sensing he's in the latter category, Bruce volunteers his time as James's assistant. James isn't even surprised when he strolls into the empty lab space cleared for him to find Bruce already tapping away at a console two cups of black coffee sat at his elbow. 

Not five minutes later he meets James "call me Bucky" Barnes for what turns out to be the second time. Under the harsh lighting it's easy to recognize him as the man from the bar standing there as whole and unflappable as Romanoff. 

"Temporary Accelerant?" James asks Bruce, casually. Even the infantry serum had its limits. Things like joints, delicate in their reconstruction still took days to heal properly. He takes in Barnes' smirk as he leans in the doorway and realizes he's been had. 

"Don't get too worked up about it," Barnes sounds smug. "Nat and I are used to being underestimated. It helps us sell the catch and release bit very well." 

"Don't take this the wrong way, but fuck you, Barnes." 

Barnes laughs, loud and full of joy. He extends a hand and introduces himself as the XO of the ship, to which James automatically raises a brow. How a guy like that could back someone like Rogers is beyond him but he's seen worse mismatched pairs. 

"Steve can be a little over protective, sometimes." 

"You here to apologize for him?" 

"Hell no, it's so much more fun to watch him try and dig his way back out. Just wanted you to know...well...he doesn’t mean anything by it. Not really.” 

“Sure sounds like an apology,” James says turning back to his console. “I get it. When you’re out here, your crew is all you have and I’m...not to be trusted. No hard feelings there.” 

“Fair enough,” Bucky runs a hand down his face, glancing at the screens. “How long have you been at it?” 

James’s eyes flick in his general direction, suspicion coiling within. “Couple hours.” 

“Anything interesting?” 

Not really, to be honest. He’s been given the full run of their files on Iron Man, the signal, and everything the Alliance has pertaining to the Starks. Hours of transmissions and letters stretched out before him in blocks of data sorted by years going all the way back to his childhood. He’d lost himself for a good hour of flipping from his work to the archived files. It was right there. He could hear them again. His father, mother, sister, Tony. What he wouldn’t have done a few years ago for that chance. For one little life line to help him when he had no one else. He’d flipped back to his work just before Barnes entered the room. 

His bout of anger at finding his personal files included in the mix aside, he’s been pretty successful parsing through the encryption. It’s not the easiest of things but not the most complicated he’s seen. 

If he keeps at it he could have the signal decrypted over the next 48 hours or so. The work is tedious but doable and now that he thinks of it could have been done in a handful of hours if given to one of their teams of analysts. The only thing tripping him up is a stubborn bit of code.

Bucky’s still looking at him expectantly, open and friendly. Inviting after Fury’s manipulations and Roger’s abrasiveness. With Terrance Rhodes’ voice echoing in his thoughts James shrugs tiredly, not even a stretch all things considering. Everyone is your friend so long as they need something.

“Time will tell, I presume. Each model Howard and Tony created had unique signals.” They all read Alliance but they kept a backdoor to pretty much everything. Some for easy modifications but mostly to keep a hand on the controls. “There's hundreds of permutations to run through." 

"Fantastic." 

"That's Howard for you. The bastard was right in the end,” Bruce pipes up. 

"Here's what I don't get," Bucky says through a yawn. "Why send a signal at all? I mean, I get it if they're trying to distract our ships from their real target but at the same time it's unnecessary. Eventually someone is going to figure out how to track them. And why use the same signal over and over?" 

"Could be a challenge code," Bruce suggests. "The next time he attacks we should specifically monitor for anything sent back." 

"It's all a bunch of gibberish." 

That has James immediately shaking his head, "This is the Starks we're talking about here. There's no such thing as just gibberish. It means something.” 

“Maybe it’s meant to keep us chasing our tails?”

“Maybe. Tony would have found it hilarious. I just, nothing was done without purpose with them, you know? Even at their most chaotic. So if someone is using their work, they have a working understanding of it enough to manipulate it to their advantage and I just don’t see them going through all the trouble to be sloppy about it.” James answers and watches Bucky perk up at the opening. He opens his mouth to push further and James fakes a rather convincing yawn. 

“To be honest, it’s all starting to run together.” 

“You slept? Either of you?” Bucky frowns. The concern may be real but he’s itching to ask something else. 

“Can’t.” 

“Not for lack of trying,” Bruce says. 

“Eaten?” 

“Not since the Warbird.” 

“What the hell, Rhodey?” Bruce glares at him, betrayed. 

“Shit man, we’re terrible hosts,” Bucky says. “I’ll show you to the Mess if you want. Can’t expect you to crack this running on empty, can we?” 

“Well, I won’t say no to a hot meal,” James nods, powering down his system to Bruce’s clear astonishment. Bruce narrows his eyes in his direction but follows suit anyway. He’s suddenly very glad that he hasn’t started anything in depth on the code. He’s got no illusions on privacy just didn’t think it would be necessary here. He’ll have to amend that when he returns. 

“Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re welcome,” Iron Man said dryly. 
> 
> “We’re coming for you,” James swore, shuddering through his deltoid and biceps muscles twitching back to life. Iron Man ducked his head and James couldn’t help but feel the intensity of his bright gaze beneath the face plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday! Hope everyone is enjoying their weekend so far! I wanted to thank everyone out there reading, kudoing, and commenting! You guys make my week every Saturday! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter otherwise known as the chapter that made me realize I was totally lying to myself when I set that 10k and then 15k and then 20k limit. 
> 
> Once again, beta'd by the awesome PinkGold

72 hours in and James wants to fling himself from the nearest airlock. Rogers is caught between trying to make amends and putting his foot in his mouth while demanding updates. 

On the one hand, he understands. By him just being on board they have to steer clear of much of the Alliance's territory. His record being cleared isn't a done deal until the mission is complete and it makes their navigation more complicated. 

If a patrol does a spot check the mission —which he's sure is being kept under wraps from everyone not named Fury— is dead in the water. So they push the limits of the borders between Asgard and Vanaheim cloaked and on guard. 

James hasn’t taken much of a break outside of the lab, opting to take his meals inside ever since Barnes dragged them out that first night. Like clockwork, every day someone drops by, be it Romanoff, Rogers, or Barnes to check in with them for an update in their own way. Rogers applies pressure concerned about the mission, Barnes bends a friendly ear, and Romanoff usually trails in after either of them, picking at any available opening she can find. Now that he’s noticed he can’t unsee their patterns. 

He also can’t stop kicking himself for allowing Fury to get him caught up in this. 

——--

James, irritated at having been woken up from his first few hours of restful sleep in weeks, jerks halfway off his bed when the alert sounds. It has to be an all hands on deck situation otherwise someone would have just sent word over comms instead of the loud klaxon alarm ringing in his ears. He growls as he shoves his clothes on and heads out. 

He’d been having a good dream, damn it. Of home, back when his Mom was still alive, when he and his Dad could stand to look at each other without a shred of disappointment in either of their eyes. Just a nice early morning on leave curled up with his sister at breakfast fighting over who got the first plate of their mother's pancakes. All while knowing that Dad would sweep in and steal it before their bickering subsided. Dreams like that, where everything stayed warm and didn't devolve into misery, were far and few between, if he dreamed of anything at all. 

He dodges a blonde ensign, Tally as her tag reads, rushing to her console, fingers frustratedly yanking the top flap of her maroon uniform over her chest to fasten it at her shoulder. She’s young, can’t be more than twenty two but calms like some of the most hardened career officers once her uniform is complete. Spine straightening with purpose, she dives into her work without hesitation.

He side steps a pair of lieutenants making a beeline for the weapons consoles behind him, forcing him to walk further onto the bridge to get out of the way of the next man, short legs working hard, calling out over his shoulder about the engines. He recognizes his rank on his collar. Lieutenant Commander. Pallace, if he recalls correctly, their Chief Engineer walks briskly by him to get to the lift with Rogers shouting after him. Shoulders back, face set in determination, Pallace acknowledges before he steps onto the lift. 

“See if you can’t push her a little bit harder. We need to get there ahead of any Alliance patrols,” Rogers barks. 

“Aye, sir, I’ll see to it personally!” The lift closes on his stern face but very proud face. And it hits him right in the sternum that he’s seen that face before. Not Pallace specifically but that expression, this type of organized chaos, all the little pieces moving together with a single goal is something he’s so familiar with. That he used to be one of those little pieces, dedicated and sure of his orders, positive in his trust for his Captain, and his crew. Knowing in his heart that he’s doing the right thing, what needs to be done, without question. He eyes them all, envious of that assurance, and the time in his life that he’d had that. 

“I need those long range sensor readings!” Rogers says, somehow managing to look both fierce and nervous. Back straight, dressed in full uniform without a single button out of place despite having also turned over command to the night shift hours ago, pacing from the helm, where Barnes and a navigator are plotting their course, to the empty strategic operations stations. 

“I want that course plotted in the next five minutes. Ops be prepared to give us a sweep as soon as we come into range. We need eyes on what’s happening down there and we have a limited window of opportunity!” The Captain orders just as the last two Bridge officers come barrelling through the door to dive into the seats of the vacant stations, a Lieutenant and Lieutenant Junior grade rounding out the assembled crew. 

“What the hell?” James grumbles, rubbing at his eyes and taking in the chaos around him. He steps down into the pit beside Rogers. He gets a glimpse of the system they’re headed towards and raises his eyebrows. “You chase down distress calls now?” 

Because really that should be much below their paygrade. There has to be another ship closer than they are. 

“Iron Man,” Barnes says tosses over his shoulder. “We still need to shave 5 more minutes off the trip. Pull up the maps for suspected unofficial jump points.” 

  
  


“Where?” James asks, worriedly, looking over their shoulders. For them to be considering using unofficial jump points, the intel is either alarmingly valid or Fury is more desperate than he thought. They’ve been at this for a month already with no sign of a new attack. James has been steadily decrypting the code embedded in the warning signal Iron Man sends out and only over turning new questions each day. He’d kill for some fresh data, actually. 

“Distress call from a Roxxon facility on Titus,” Rogers says. 

“Got it, Cap! Should give us a cushion of an hour before the next patrol in that sector,” Barnes announces. 

“Two minute warning. Let’s get this done people,” Rogers announces, grimly. “I’d lock up if I were you, Rhodes.” 

There’s a ship wide alert to lock their gravboots with the announcement of several jumps very close together. It’ll be disorienting at best and possibly knock a crewman on their ass if they’re not prepared. Anyone left standing on the bridge immediately locks in and with a series of clicks and hisses James is rooted to the floor. 

“Do we have word on the signal?” James asks anxiously. 

“No word from anyone at the facility as of yet. We don’t even know if anyone there has been left alive. Jump, Sam!” The Captain orders as they approach that slip of space usually marked in some way by an official beacon. Because it’s an unofficial jump point or as in many cases too weak to sustain heavy traffic there’s nothing but open space. 

The familiar pull behind his belly button intensifies with each jump. Like he’s being yanked this way and that with the G force necessary for a ship this size to pivot toward a new jump point. They’re using pathways that are too close together. Charted but not advisable for use and thus not marked on Alliance maps and not usually patrolled by Infinity Corps ships, the fleet keeping close to charted space at all times. 

He’s used to it, after all they’re very useful when making a quick getaway. The only downside being that unless you’ve traversed them before you might not like where you come out at. Or if they collapse and just dump you right in the middle of who knew what. Getting dropped into the middle of a firefight wasn’t the worst afternoon he’d ever had, but was very tricky with both sides firing on them instantly. James hopes that isn’t the case here. 

His insides settle once they’ve arrived and he locks his knees to keep himself from buckling with most of the standing crew. Wilson takes them into the atmosphere with relative ease. The surface is rocky, uneven terrain. One of the planets not meant to sustain life on its own, but perfectly able to house several colonies and different kinds of facilities. He knows for a fact that before Roxxon took over, Hammer used to have a weapons development facility here. Always trying to outwit Howard and Tony’s innovative designs. 

Rogers’ face goes pinched when they get a few clicks out from the location of the distress call. Well away from the nearest settlement, the mere facility is actually more of a complex, clear as they fly over it. The dome that covers it goes on for at least 10 acres. There’s a hangar, not out of the norm if they’re fabricating the things they make here. Most researchers live on the station they work out of, what with the Alliance being as spread out as it is and so the two buildings marked as dormitories make sense. He counts 15 buildings in total but probably misses some of the smaller ones packed in close together. From above it looks like a city. And about half of it’s on fire. 

One of the smaller buildings explodes filling the air around it with smoke and ash. Something moves, small bits of lights in the otherwise darkened structure dart past debris and another follows. 

Iron Man. 

James’s eyes widen. He’s here. 

There’s a flurry of activity all around them. They’re still cloaked, thankfully, and masked somewhat by the darkness and smoke from earlier explosions. 

“Bu-Barnes I need you to assemble a ground team. Take Barton and--” 

“--I’ll be joining you,” Romanoff seemingly materializes on the bridge. Rogers just rolls his eyes and jerks his head in the direction of the door even as Romanoff looks pointedly at James. “We should round it out with another body.” 

Rogers purses his lips, looking distinctly like he’s been sucking on a lemon, and if James had to guess, was grasping for some reason to deny the request. James bristles at the slight. 

“Romanoff is taking point,” Rogers turns to him seeming resigned.  _ Follow her orders _ . Is what he hears. “Think you can handle that?” 

James glances at him, eyebrows raised suddenly with a need to remind them that he doesn’t exactly work for them. He’s a freelancer, for all intents and purposes, thank you very much. 

“We could really use an extra pair of eyes,” Barnes says, genuine as ever, and James rolls his eyes but relents. With a stiff nod, he follows them down to the armory, passing by a row of muted red and chrome tac-suits that seem to have been upgraded since the last time he had to wear one. 

Not for the best, it seems. He thumbs the raised HammerTech symbol with a grimace, already feeling for the thinner patches of fabric where Hammer sought to cut costs. The cheap bastards. He yanks the bottoms on over his pants and does up the rest of the suit, covering himself in mostly thick, stiff zylon synthetic fabric, and for once is thankful Tony isn't here to see him. 

His skin crawls when he catches a glimpse of his reflection. Taller, broader, and less enthusiastic.It’s like he’s been forced back into old clothes. There was a time when this was all he wanted, to get to put on this suit and fight for his home. Romanoff steps into his line of sight blocking the mirror and a countdown starts in his head until he can take this whole thing off. 

After buckling the standard tac-belt and holster over his hips, he finds himself turning automatically to his left to check Specialist Barton's gear. He's halfway through checking the grip on the other man's holster when he notices, hands stuttering over leather, with a grimace. 

"Never really leaves you does it?" Barton says, knowingly, stepping back to check the rest of his stuff. James' scowl deepens. It's not that. He's been grateful for his training, no matter how much hate he has for what the Alliance has become. 

"Just," he pauses so Barton can tug on his shoulder straps to test the give. James pats his shoulder when he's all done signaling that he's ready to load up on weapons. “Never thought I’d be here again.” 

\---

The Avenger shudders when they land in a large auxiliary hangar that connects them to the building closest to the target. James feels the tremor vibrate through his boots and up his legs once they’ve docked and the ramp is lowered. Romanoff takes point, and leads them from one corridor to the next until they’re stepping across rubble and into the next building where sensors detect an energy source matching an arc reactor in the sublevels. 

“What the hell?” Barnes growls, tapping at the scanner in his hands, lit up blindingly bright as he tries to take a reading. “I can’t scan a damn thing down here.” 

“Me either,” Romanoff confirms. Barton and James check their own devices and startlingly, the energy source is off the charts but they can’t pick up anything else. All he can see now is that they’re maybe three levels above what must be the arc reactors in the suits. “So we’re flying blind. We’ve had worse. It was strongest on sublevel 8, it looks like. We’ll clear each level as we go, quickly, quietly. Meet on 8. Do not engage unless backup is close.”

“Copy,” they all mutter in varying tones of negative enthusiasm. 

He finds himself falling right back into old habits and protocol, tightening his form to follow and cover Barnes whose ahead of him, without having to think about if Barton is behind him doing the same. He just knows. A squad watches each other’s backs because if one of you falls then you all lose. 

So he takes care as they cross the damaged lobby, ducking behind fallen columns to get to the only stairwell left standing. Meant for maintenance and built to last it’s stable, whereas the rest of the lobby looks blown half to hell, they begin clearing each level in pairs. Barnes and Romanoff take sublevel one while Clint sweeps around James to take point and leads them to the second. 

The building is about as bland as you can get with grey walls to match the equally grey tiles lining the floors. There’s a layer of grime and dust covering every surface to the point that their boots leave clear prints behind as if they’re walking through snow. It could be from the attack. Already there’s pieces of the ceiling cracked and scattered on the ground but when James trails a gloved finger across railings lining the wall, he pulls away several layers of gunk and still just barely scrapes down to the surface. Through a fine line he can see that the walls are actually a sickly looking yellow. 

Rogers mentioned an evacuation but as they clear each room, some of them labs but most already wrecked offices, and discover more of the same he has to wonder. 

“Where is everyone?” He asks, back to the wall while Barton takes point and enters the next room. He keeps a look out while Barton checks the room. “Where are the survivors?” 

“Could have taken a shuttle to safety outside of the atmosphere. Protocols, you know,” Barton says shortly, poking his head back out of the room. “It’s clear.” 

“Everyone? That’s like dozens of shuttles or a transport ship? This place has to have hundreds of employees.” 

Barton shifts from foot to foot keeping his gaze trained down the hall. 

“But our scanners would have picked up the ship on our way in. Something that large or many ships clustered together, it’d be impossible to miss. Besides, it looks like no one has been here for a while.” 

“Until we get to their security feeds we won’t know for sure. They have to be somewhere. I know if Iron Man attacked a facility I was in, I wouldn’t stop running until I was at least a few jump points away. Better safe than sorry. Let’s keep moving.” 

James frowns, unsatisfied but keeps going. They skip 3 as Romanoff and Barnes are already there and head further down. 4 and 6 are much the same, though there’s finally a sign of life by the way of five guards, yellow jumpsuits stained with blood, downed on six by what looks to be a concussive blast. There’s no pulse when he checks although their skin are still warm to the touch. Chalk up 5 more casualties on Iron Man’s body count. 

They call it in and move on to meet the others in the stairwell just as they’ve finished with 7. 

“Anything interesting?” James asks, peering just over Romanoff’s shoulder to see into the darkened hallway, just to have her close the door firmly behind her. 

“Negative,” she says in that bored tone, barely sparing him a glance. She moves to take point again and checks her weapon, clearly considering the matter closed. One look at Barnes casts doubt on that. His gaze doesn’t leave the door, face pale and drawn even when Barton claps him on the arm trying to reassure him. But of what? 

“What--” Romanoff’s harsh whisper cuts him off just as much as her stern glare pins him in place. 

“We’ve got movement. Terran male, no visible weapons on his person, he looks  _ young _ .” she says.

“How young?” Barnes asks, snapping back to reality. 

“Unclear, 16 maybe? Standard protocol says we capture him for interrogation.” 

It sends an ice cold shiver down his spine. “We’re interrogating children now?” 

“Questioning. However you’d like to put it, he’s a lead if we can’t catch the big guy himself. We’d do well to bring him in. Non-lethal weapons free.” 

They all holster their rifles and switch to the stunners on their hips, while she activates the ones on her wrists. 

“Concussive blast should do it,” Barnes recommends, unstrapping a grenade from his belt. 

Romanoff nods and steps back with a hand still on the handle. 

“Ready?” 

She gets a nod from Clint. James clicks the safety off on his weapon, a clear objection on his tongue. Maybe the kid works for Iron Man and maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s not here of his own free will and either way they damn sure won’t know unless they capture him. He still doesn’t like it, but ends up giving a curt nod to Romanoff anyway. 

Romanoff jerks the door open and it creaks something awful. From his place he can see the kid about halfway down the hall. Holo display hovering over his forearm. He doesn’t look like he’s under duress, dressed in a black skin tight suit, a dim triangular light gleaming from his chest, and boots, sending them a withering glare once his shock has worn off. That glare morphs into a grim sort of resignation. 

“Mechanic, we’re out of time!” The kid calls out. 

Barnes chucks the grenade through the open doorway and time seems to slow for James. He can either follow the trajectory of the grenade or he can watch the kid and it’s no contest for which is more interesting. The kid, a boy really, does an about face and makes for the nearest open doorway. He touches just behind his earlobe and a helmet unfolds across his skin, metal skittering in multiple directions to form a faceplate with glowing gold eyes, then taps at the light on his chest. It looks like an arc reactor, slimmer from what he can tell than the model once seated in Tony’s chest. 

“Wait--!” 

The explosion is minimal but loud, designed to incapacitate enemies with the least amount of casualtie, muffling his voice beneath the sound. It still takes out the dim lights and one by one they flick on their shoulder mounted lights just to see more than two feet ahead of them. Their target is thrown back, metal still flying over his chest then down to his legs, body slamming into the wall with a loud crack to land in a heap on the floor. Luckily for them, there’s no reaction from the arc, James lets out a shaky breath, aware of just how bad things could have been. 

“Let’s move!” Romanoff barks. 

They move on the hallway, careful to quickly check each open doorway, peering into rooms filled with glowing military grade servers unharmed by the blast, between them and the prone figure on the floor. He’s lying on his stomach, covered from head to toe in a dark, gunmetal grey mech suit, with blood red accents inlaid around his shoulders, neck and calves, blue light reflecting on the floor. It casts an eerie glow around him, marking his body for them to find. Romanoff reaches him first and motions Barnes forward then signals Barton and James to follow her so she can step around and continue down the hall. They still have Iron Man to deal with, after all. 

She directs them to check the rest of the doorways while she comes along to the stairs, jerks the door open to clear that area. James and Barton hit the last few doors finding more of the same. This is a server farm. He’d be willing to bet there are several more floors just like this one. Housing all kinds of data on AIM’s activities here. That’s partially what’s so odd about it all. This much information is worth millions of credits on its own. And there’s only 5 guards watching over it? Unlikely. 

“Does any of this feel right to you?” James asks after clearing the last room. Barton is behind him, staring back at where Barnes has knelt by the kid while trying to check his vital signs through the suit, clearly having abandoned his scanner on the floor. The nearby arc reactor must still be giving off interference. 

“I’m the wrong person to ask,” Barton says cheekily. “Nothing feels right to me, ever.” 

It starts as a tremor and builds and builds until James is gripping the railing along the wall for support. Barton has done the same, both of them avoiding locking their boots for support in case they need to run. 

“Barnes--” Romanoff’s shout is cut short by the floor beneath their feet blasting outwards, a charged whine of power and the pop of the discharge, then following groan of pain from Barnes. 

They each jump back, just out of range of the large hole that’s been created, scrambling to safety. James doesn’t have time to get a good look at it, considering he’s too busy shoving Barton further back, partially to get the other man further away from the steep drop before them but mostly to give himself more room to move. He’s right at the edge of the opening and if the piece of floor gives out beneath him, then not even the tac-suit could absorb the impact of his fall. 

Of course, as he’s scrambling for more space, he can see over Barton’s shoulder back down the hallway where the light from his suit illuminates the scene before them. Barnes is down and the mech suit is rising to its feet, two glowing circles in the palm of each hand reflecting off the metal to cast an ominous light around it. 

“Holy shit!” Barton shouts and James is about to agree when he notices Barton isn’t even looking at the kid surrounded by a suit of armor. He’s focused on something beyond James’ shoulder, struggling to his feet, weapon in hand. James lifts up to his knees to turn and look, abandoning his non-lethal handgun for the rifle on his back. 

He fumbles the controls when he sees a different suit of armor, this one red and gold and taller than the first, floating just above the hole in the floor, arc reactor glowing from his chest and intense pale lights in the eyes of the faceplate. It’s meant to be expressionless but there’s fury in how quickly he raises his arms and fires a shot at Romanoff, clipping her shoulder and sending her back into the wall, and then on Barton, knocking him off his feet with a shot to his chest. 

Heart rabbiting in his chest, James fires off two shots. One blast catches the suit just off the shoulder and the next goes for the reactor, stronger, with a more focused power to hopefully take the damn thing out. Unless it has a backup power source, which would be smart. Whoever is in that suit has to be smart enough to build this from the prototype Tony wore. To pry him from his final resting place just to create a new weapon to terrorize people with. 

Iron Man drops his shoulder and dodges the last shot, which goes wide and hits the wall behind him, sending scattered bits of debris raining down on Romanoff’s unconscious body. He’s up in the time in takes for the suit to turn back to him, rifle raised to take another shot, but the sound of a whining build up of power right next to his ear has him stopping in his tracks, stomach dropping to his shoes. 

“I’m not sure you get what’s happening here,” the voice behind him is young even if it’s modulated. He can’t pretend he doesn’t know that there’s a minor inside that suit, even with how much he wants to fight back to get another shot at Iron Man. “Drop it.” 

“You don’t know what he’s done,” James growls, desperate and feeling like his chance is slipping through his fingers. The heat from the charged repulsors is right by his ear, not close enough to burn but just enough to warn him. Meanwhile Iron Man just hovers, arms hanging loose at his sides, still stabilizing his flight but otherwise frozen in place. He wonders just what the other man is seeing here. 

“I know exactly what he’s done!” The kid snaps. “I said drop it!” 

“Iron Lad!” The voice is modulated but sharp as a laser blade. It cuts across their argument in an instant. “The charges are set, we have 5 minutes, grab those two and get them outside of the blast radius. I’ll handle the rest.” 

“But--” 

“Now kid!” 

And the kid just drops his arm without another word of argument, leaving James to breathe a tiny bit easier. 

"I hate that name!" He grumbles as he grabs a hold of Barton’s arm, limp at first then strangely, alarmingly straight, then drags him closer to Barnes so he does the same.

"Well, when you finally land on a name without changing it every two days, I'll be happy to use it!" Iron Man says while he lifts his hands and fires straight up, blasting a hole through the ceiling and dropping more rubble down below them. 

He fires again and again, creating a direct exit to the lobby then floats to the side to allow his partner to hover and fly up and out, two grown Infinity Corps soldiers dangling, limpet like, from his sides. The sight is so unbelievable he misses Iron Man approaching him until it’s too late. He’s already got Romanoff by the arm in the same strange grip as the others and she looks a little banged up but mostly fine. No blood spilt but certainly bruised. 

“Step on,” Iron Man directs. James’ lips curl back into a sneer. He’d rather put a hole in Iron Man’s chest than touch him. 

“Or don’t. Clocks ticking.” 

“Because you set the charges!” 

“Either you can step on my feet and trust me or I can drag you out of here,” Iron Man says, sounding a bit amused. “Your choice, sweetheart. Just make it in the next 60 seconds so we have a fair chance to outrun the blast.” 

Because he has a point and James is well aware of his limitations, he’d barely make the lobby before getting caught, and he has no intentions of dying a fiery death. At least not if he can’t take Iron Man with him. So, he steps on the boots of the armor glaring daggers at the glowing eyes. 

“I bet you’re a lot of fun at parties,” Iron Man quips. 

“Just go!” 

“Wrap your arms around me.” 

James throws his arms around his neck and jolts when a light electric charge runs up his spine freezing his muscles in place. This must be what’s helping them keep a firm grip on the others while they’re unconscious. The thrusters engage and they’re being propelled back over the opening and up through the ceiling. 

\------

_ "Attention Alliance vessel."  _

It's like ice water down his spine which culminates in an almost full body flinch. The voice is similar, younger, but unmistakable as it features in his nightmares. He feels like he’s been listening to a ghost. Edwin Jarvis back from the dead. 

He’s sat in the Avenger’s war room, an enclosed room attached to the bridge usually for the senior staff to discuss the best course of action on missions. When he’d walked in, straight after changing out of his tac-suit he was surprised to see only the Captain, his XO, Romanoff, and Bruce sat around the long mahogany table, stocked with a holo display in the middle. The set up is very reminiscent of the Cobalt considering the Captain’s quarters and the war room are some of the only spaces left to the Captain to customize. He supposes Rogers and Fury have more than a few things in common. 

They’re listening to the recording of the conversation Captain Rogers had with the enemy ship's ...well he doesn’t know what. Captain? They never identify themselves as such but the more he listens the more he feels like shit for not trying harder to take out Iron Man when he had the chance. 

Captain Rogers sits at the head of the table arms folded across his chest with eyes only for Barnes who sits next to him with an alarmingly vacant expression replacing his usual jovial demeanor. Across from James, Romanoff looks impassive as ever, except for the way she leans forward with interest, resting her folded arms on the table. The bruises and scratches along her brow and cheek bones are already healing at an impressive rate thanks to her advanced serum. He doesn’t need to look at Bruce to notice the catch in his breath. He knew Jarvis, too. Not for as long as James but he’d met that man countless enough times. 

_ "This is your one and only warning. Stand down or I will be forced to destroy your ship.”  _

James looks up from his meticulous study of the intricate carvings running along the table’s edge into Romanoff’s intent green eyed gaze and sits back cursing internally. He’s forgotten that even with Bruce beside him he’s not amongst friends. He doesn’t have the luxury of showing weakness here where they can see and exploit it. The spy looks away first, gaze sliding from him to Bruce, but he knows this is no reprieve and feels her cataloging his every twitch after a few seconds tick by. 

_ “This is Captain Steve Rogers of the Alliance vessel Avenger. You’re on Alliance property attacking a government run facility. I think you’re the ones that need to stand down, here. Identify yourself, immediately! No one else needs to be hurt today.”  _

_ “As I do not recognize your authority or the authority of the Alliance as a whole, I see no reason to comply. Our evacuation of the facility is complete. Please vacate the area as demolition of the facility is imminent.”  _

Evacuation? Of whom? Even his surprise is noted with Romanoff’s raised eyebrows. 

_ “Demolition?” Rogers breathes. “Bucky, if you can hear me you need to haul ass back to the hangar. “  _

_ “That would be inadvisable, Captain Rogers.”  _

Those words are impeccably timed as a series of explosions rocked the foundations of the Roxxon facility. Building after building crumbled to collapse as illustrated by footage taken by the Avenger displayed over the table’s holo projections. Another larger explosion takes out the dome itself causing large chunks of flickering glass to fall across anything that’s left. In the aftermath they watch as the ground itself splits and takes the debris down with it, billions of credits worth of government property and developments buried in seconds. 

_ “Locate them!” Rogers barks.  _

_ “That will be quite unnecessary, sir. As I’m sure you’re aware, the situation isn’t quite as it seems.”  _

That quiet little ‘sir’ twists him up. He can hear it echoed a hundred times over the course of his life. Takes him right back to a tight hallway on the Asterion, pinned down by enemy fire on one end with no cover to help them get to the other side. Where the man himself made him promise to get Tony out. Edwin Jarvis, loyal to the end. 

One little,  _ ‘sir’  _ and his breathing quickens, short panting breaths he desperately tries to keep underwraps. He curls his hands into tight fists until his nails bite into his skin beneath the table and tries to let his tension bleed out there. 

By now he can smell the blood dripping on the decks, feel the way his tac-uniform clung to his body, just barely regulating his temperature to something comfortable. Jarvis had a little wheeze to each breath that sounds louder than the gunfire down the hall and needed to lean on the wall for support in a way that had James trying to redirect him to nearby escape pods. And after Ana died, caught in the initial spray of gunfire in the main lab, he didn’t blame him. 

James inhales deeply then exhales, trying to project as much calm as he can manage under those watchful green eyes but it’s no use. He can practically taste the panic building with each shuddering breath and every second he spent away from Tony only helped by the sound of his breathing over the transmitter. Jarvis didn’t hesitate. Just pushed forward and ran, dead set on drawing their fire before James could get the words out.

"Rhodes!" Rogers' voice cuts across time to yank him back to the present. The present, where four separate sets of eyes stare back at him with increasing amounts of worry and suspicion. The recording has been paused. "You good?" 

James looks from each face waiting for the inevitable question to be asked. It's wishful thinking to hope Romanoff hadn't read too much into it and he knows he's not that lucky. Though she looks over him worriedly, her gaze feels more searching than anything. 

He swallows thickly, pulls himself together with one long even inhale and manages to force his voice to steady. 

"Yeah."

Rogers shares a look with Romanoff. James doesn't flinch, doesn't react beyond running a hand across his face, surprised to come away with a small amount of moisture from his cheeks. Yeah he's not getting away without an explanation. He gestures for Rogers to continue the recording. Thankful that they're at least not asking questions now. 

They see what ‘Jarvis’ means when two armors become visible in their e growing smoke escaping from the broken dome. The first emerging armor is grey and red, much more slender than the second but he wouldn’t discount it’s deadly possibilities. The second armor, red and gold, metal mask in place where Tony’s clear one had been. Cold and impersonal. Gripped in each of their hands is one of the Avenger’s crew, holding on for dear life as they’re flown over the destruction to a minimum safe distance. 

Abruptly, the first armor twists and shakes its crewmembers off, dropping them closer to the ground, but Iron Man does it differently. 

James can still feel the tight pressure of a metal arm wrapped around his waist holding him steady as the armor slowed its descent to land with a gentle thud. The electrified sensation faded abruptly, starting in his feet and moving up his body, while the aftershocks of the buildings collapsing behind them reverberated beneath their feet. He couldn’t turn his head, shocked still while the muscles in his back constricted and released, leaving him stuck staring up into Iron Man’s impassive face plate. 

_ “Who the hell are you?”  _

_ “You’re welcome,” Iron Man said dryly.  _

_ “We’re coming for you,” James swore, shuddering through his deltoid and biceps muscles twitching back to life. Iron Man ducked his head and James couldn’t help but feel the intensity of his bright gaze beneath the face plate. _

_ “Promises,” the modulated voice sounded breathless. “Careful, you’ll feel weak for at least twenty minutes.”  _

On the display, Iron Man hesitatingly steps back from him and flies off towards his steadily decloaking red ship. Once inside, the ship is cloaked and gone. This close, they pick up the readings of their thrusters firing and speeding them away. James finds himself just as twisted up inside now as he was earlier on the ground. 

\-----

"Rhodes," Romanoff says his name softly. Like she's coming to him as a friend. Funny considering they dismissed Bruce almost immediately after the recording was finished. "You seemed shocked by the recording. Wanna tell us why?"

James's jaw clenches on reflex. He's heard that tone before. Maybe not from Natasha Romanoff but definitely from other interrogators employed by the Infinity Corps. Not that they call themselves that. They're always investigators and it's never an interrogation but usually just a chat. Her green eyes sweep over him with a compassionate gaze that sets the fine hairs on his arms and neck stand on edge. 

"Let me guess," James says folding his arms across his chest, leveling her with an unimpressed look. Even now, her expression is open and inviting but it all screams trap to a man who's spent a fair amount of time having his motives questioned.

_ "We're all on the same side here, Captain. For the good of the Alliance we need to find the remaining Stark Labs. It's imperative that you be truthful."  _

He'd been naive then. Still believed that his best interests were any sort of concern of theirs. 

"You just want to help me, right? That's it, isn't it?" James asks. 

Romanoff sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I do just want to help. Believe it or not James, we want the same things." 

"Do we?" 

"I'm not sure I follow." 

"I'm here for revenge. Plain and simple. What's Fury really after here?" 

If they hadn't intercepted the distress call then, the Alliance could have sent out a battlecruiser to investigate, could have bombed that facility out of existence along with Iron Man if they really wanted. The poor kid with him would have been caught up in it all but those are the facts. That's how they do things for the greater good of all Alliance citizens. 

"Our motives are clear," she shrugs. "We want Iron Man out of the picture. That's why you're aboard this ship. Albeit longer than we expected with someone of your credentials and talents, but that's where we are. Revenge is an interesting motivator." 

"Trying to imply something there, Romanoff?" 

"Seems like an awful lot of fight in you for a person who just wants this over with," she muses. "You sure we're all on the same side?" 

"Romanoff--"

"No, Steve, it's just interesting to me. You were alone with Iron Man for just under two minutes in the facility. His back up had gone. You could have fired, shot right through him. He even gave you an opening."

"He would have left us all to die!"

"Would he leave his partner behind?" 

At that James's mind goes completely and utterly blank. There's silence all around as even Barnes has since dragged his focus from the table top to stare at Natasha with wide disbelieving eyes. 

"You're out of line, Nat," Rogers says lowly, a clear admonishment that's more than James expects from the Captain. More than he even got from Fury towards the end. 

He should feel grateful, but it's difficult to think around the pulse of anger spreading through him and then slow building roar of blood rushing in his ears. They're arguing, he can see Rogers' lips moving shaping angry words while Romanoff doesn't take her eyes off James. She's analyzing him, he knows it. But he can't worry about it now, too busy processing and reprocessing her words. Working them over with an increasing tightness in his chest like he's been caught and is being squeezed. 

"--a lot we don't know about where he's been, who he's been in contact with. It was estimated it would take him weeks not months. You can't be that naive, Cap!" 

"I think it would be best if you took a walk," Rogers says. "Buck, if you'd please." 

"Fury--" 

"Is not on board. You may speak with his voice but this is my ship and--” 

“Edwin Jarvis,”James says abruptly, stopping Romanoff’s rise to her feet halfway, leaving her with her hands braced on the table. Her entire frame is tense, coiled tightly like she’s ready to strike.  _ Always ready _ . Their creed as soldiers for the Alliance. 

He curls and uncurls his hands suddenly feeling that heat that had been building extend like an electric shock through his system. He can't sit still and shoves himself up and out of his chair just to remind himself that he can. That he's not stuck in some awful little room with an internal investigator questioning his loyalty to the oath every officer takes. The muscles along his shoulders jump in anticipation of Marines coming to push him back down in his seat. It doesn’t happen. He’s not there. He’s not there. 

They’re all staring at him with different shades of intent. Rogers is the only one that surprises him, shockingly open with the morose look on his face. 

“That’s what you wanted to know,” James says making eye contact with each of them.

Sure, James knew that voice. 

He’d been familiar with it since he met Tony at the tender age of 11, watching his friend, younger than anyone in their class, tug at the jacket of his uniform while pacing around on Family Day at the academy, looking more morose by the minute. James had been planning to pull him over to meet his family when a tall slender gentleman emerged from the crowd of parents greeting their children, dressed smartly in a grey civilian suit, with a soft smile on his face to wrap Tony in fierce hug. 

He knew for a fact that whoever he was, he most definitely was not Howard Stark. He remembers the effect his lilting lyrical accented voice had on Tony, the soothing tones and no nonsense admonishments. All present in the man Rogers spoke to earlier. 

The man who encouraged him to fly as a kid, who nudged him and Tony together when neither of them was brave enough to follow through, the first person they told about their engagement. James tells them about Edwin Jarvis but keeps it as impersonal as possible. Draws the line in the sand that this is all they get from him. 

“Edwin Jarvis, age 54 when he died in the massacre, was the assistant to Howard Stark. No children, wife also a victim of the massacre.” 

“Thank you. We’ll compile a dossier on the suspect. It’s possible he might not be as dead as you think.” Romanoff says after a moment, ignoring the sharp look Rogers and Barnes send her way. A small smile graces her features that makes him want to upend the entire table. Instead he rounds the table, too quick for her liking as her hand immediately goes to the weapon on her hip just merely resting on the holster. 

“His name,” he repeats slowly bitter with the fact that he has to explain at all, “was Edwin Jarvis and he died for me.” 

Just like all the other times he’s had to say those words the officer before him doesn't react much. In fact, Romanoff raises her chin in the sort of challenge that would have had his hackles up years ago. James pushes past that. He’s not there, after all. He has nothing to prove. So unlike before, he pulls himself back and just barely brushes by her as he approaches the door already hissing open for him, and leaves. 

\-----

He doesn’t get far before the door opens and closes again and there are rapid footfalls following him down the hall. His hand hovers over the handle of his blaster. He’d meant what he said to Fury when all of this started. He had no intention of ever returning to face “Alliance justice”. 

"I'm sorr--,” Rogers begins. And if he had more time to cool off he might have heard the actual sympathy there but he doesn’t. He’ll feel guilty about it later, he knows, and then feel worse for feeling anything for someone wearing that uniform in the first place. James faces the Captain of the Avenger with a scowl and a sharp shake of his head. 

"It really doesn't matter.” 

"Romanoff was way out of line, Rhodes. I think we both know that." 

"Sure," James says, fingers flexing, heart hammering behind his ribcage. "But it really doesn't matter. That's what I realized before Fury convinced me to resign my commission. Well before he misled me to desert." 

"What?" 

"Oh? You don't know about that?" James laughs harsh and bitter between them. Rogers has that look about him. Not quite wide eyed optimism but still full of that righteous purpose. "Why would you, right? That's not how Fury does things. Not even with the men and women who put their lives in his hands. You'd do well not to trust him. Not fully." 

"Good thing for me that I don't," Rogers says, tiredly, shoulders slumping like a line of string has been cut. He runs a hand over his face, pausing over his eyes to press in and rub gently. 

"Can't trust that either," James chuckles and Rogers looks at him like he’s grown another head. "You see, I bought into it. The oath, the sense of duty, the uniform all of it. And…" 

"Woke up one day and found out it was all a pile of shit? You think you’re the only one who’s been fucked over by them, Rhodes? That you’re special?"

“Probably not,” James answers. “Let me guess. Barnes, right?” 

Rogers flinches shoulders reach up towards his ears in his attempt to keep from displaying anymore. He’s not very good at it but that’s fine. James doesn’t need to know and with the day he’s been having he doesn’t think he’d take well to any perceived vulnerabilities shown. 

“They ever ask you to leave him behind?” James asks. Rogers shakes his head. 

“Not me,” he says softly. “I--” 

“Oh, but they asked him,” James says feeling a grim sort of satisfaction at the way Rogers stalks forward stopping just a foot away. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I know them. They looked at the two of you. Sized you up and appealed to his sense of duty or rather his loyalty. Knew just where to press to get him to do what they wanted. And where did that leave you huh? Sidelined?” 

“In cryo,” Rogers snaps sounding unsure. “There was a study to test the effects the serum had on aging.” 

“And then there was an accident wasn’t there? Rumor has it you were left in cryo for, what? It has to have been decades. Because it’s never their fault, is it?” James asks remembering how hard that lesson was to wrap his mind around. Rogers seems to struggle with it, brows knitting together as whatever pieces of his own puzzle fall into place. 

"That's the best intel I could give you." 

He doesn’t turn his back when he leaves. 

\----

"I fixed it," Bruce announces as he drops down into the seat across from James in the mess during one of his late night food excursions nearly a week later. The former Captain sits alone, seeking out off peak meal times to avoid the most contact. Barnes has been seeking him out again, trying to find common ground, a futile attempt to make friends when James has no interest in doing so. 

He's been aboard the Avenger for a solid 2 months longer than expected. 3 in total coming up at the end of the week. 

James looks at the other man expectantly. It's late but he still has plans to head back to his work station after a quick shower and some coffee. Preferably without Bruce haranguing him about proper rest, thank you very much. 

"Your transmitter! It needed some rewiring and replacing of parts but it’s done.” 

“And it works?” James asks quietly, though he feels more alert than he’s felt in days. Bruce leans forward with his elbows on the table. 

“It turns on if that’s what you’re asking. You’ll still only hear static unless…” he trails off apologetically dropping his eyes to the glossy table top. 

It doesn't make any sense. He knows there's no legitimate reason to keep the device working but he felt odd ever since it went down. Like a vital piece of him has gone missing. And yet he’s still here. The universe hasn’t imploded. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” James muses. “Just leave well enough alone. Doesn’t really matter if it’s there or not. Not now, anyway.” 

“Where is this coming from?” 

“Common sense? Maybe if I had let go sooner I wouldn’t be here. Maybe neither of us would. I’d be on New Terra. I’d get to see Jeanette and the new baby.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce sighs, shoulders drawing up to his ears as he hunches forward, hands folding together then spreading out widely. “You might be. Might not. More than likely, though you’d still be right here.” 

James rears back in surprise. He folds his arms across his chest and stares his friend down, demanding an explanation. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run from anything, ever. Except for when you and Tony were being too stupid to function and rather than admit your feelings you tried to avoid each other for weeks. That’s how I knew they were bullshitting when I was told you deserted. Tony was the same way. He had a pathological need to fix things and you can’t let things go. Some might call it obsessive, but I think that’s just you. You don’t give up, ever, because it eats you up inside when you do.” 

“You’re forgetting that I did give up. I tried to find him and I failed. I tried to bring his killers to justice and--the things I did, Bruce--” 

“You think I don’t know? This fleet is the absolute worst at keeping rumors under wraps.” 

And that is surprising to him. Not that the rumors, most of which were absolute facts, spread like wildfire through the ranks but that Bruce can so easily sit across from him knowing it’s the truth without batting an eye. 

“Then you know that I failed there, too. I was wrong and people died. And then I went after Stane and I never really stood a chance did I? He’d been so ready for me. Been planning this for years. Even if Fury hadn’t manipulated me into leaving. Into doing what was best for everyone. I decided to give up and let it go and let Stane win.” 

“He wouldn’t be upset with you if he were here. I think he’d be happy you survived. Besides, if you really gave up you wouldn’t be here.” 

“Guilt is one hell of a motivator.” 

“So is hope.” 

“Sap,” James snorts, the ghost of a smile forming. 

“Hey, I watched you hope for two years and I still see it now. Face it, you’re an optimist masquerading as a pessimist, day in and day out, pal. Now, you can take the transmitter or don’t. It’s up to you. Insertion takes five minutes. Then at that point it's up to your body to accept the modification. Just think about it.” 

Bruce lightly raps the table top with his knuckles, stands, then takes his leave. Appetite ruined, and focus shot, James doesn’t have much choice but to head back to his quarters. He eyes the console on the desk in his room. His fingers itch to trip over the controls and pull up the dredges of his old life. 

To hear voices he hasn’t heard in years and just indulge. Instead he turns and crawls into his bed, kicking off his boots as he goes but undressing no further than that, pulls the blankets over him wincing when his hand automatically goes to his neck. 

His finger runs over the now non-existent scar from the laser scalpel. He could go about the rest of his days with no one knowing what was missing beneath that patch of skin. Except for Bruce, who wouldn’t tell a soul. 

He could shut the new transmitter up in a box and toss it out an airlock forgotten and lost like the boy who’d built it from scratch. He drifts off that idea rolling around in his head and for the first time in a while, he dreams of nothing at all. No Asterion, no Ravager ships, no Jarvis. 

James wakes up cold. 

Anxiety fills his steps all the way down to medical the very next day as he walks with a bounce in his step that garners raised eyebrows along his path. He doesn’t care. Can’t muster up a single fuck to give about any of them as he hops up on the table in medical and his gaze sweeps over the tray of tools. 

Bruce settles a slender box on the tray and cracks it open. And there the improved transmitter sits, shiny and almost like new. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I appreciate you taking the time to read my work! Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s unmistakable. James inhales sharply and can’t seem to stop. Like there’s not enough air to rattle around in his lungs. He wobbles on unsteady legs, embarrassed at how quickly he unravels in the face of such trickery. It’s a trap. It has to be. Some kind of cruel plan.

Days seem to get longer once he completes his task of isolating the precise coding of the old Stark signal and works out an algorithm for searching for any use of it outside of preceding an attack. There’s something else there, wrapped up in all those layers, pulsing secondary to the first and seemingly an errant bit of code. Sloppy work by someone who can’t quite match the genius of the Starks, but capable of bending their work to meet their needs. 

Rogers and Romanoff dismiss it once he spends days trying to work out just what’s beyond the heavy encryption that appears different than the rest. They think it’s a dead end, but James can’t help but wonder if it really is. From all they’ve seen of him, Iron Man doesn’t act without reason, no matter how much the Alliance stamps him as some crazed terrorist. 

As usual, James has to depend on the facts. All of his targets have been military or related to the Stark family. He’d wager a grudge, but that just brings him back to wondering why Iron Man chose now to attack. He’s been waging war on the Alliance for close to a year now and James is more convinced than ever that someone is fudging the casualty numbers. 

He’s gotten a hit only twice since. Once they arrived and it was too late to be of much help but the facility had been mostly left intact enough for himself, Romanoff, and Barnes to go down and check it out. 

There wasn’t much to see. They spent a good hour combing every room available for some kind of lead only to once again leave with more questions. No bodies this time, completely empty, from the dormitories to the labs and the small factory. A few rooms were sealed shut but they’d run out of time to investigate, apparently some patrols were finally close enough to do that themselves. Abandoned and not recently, if he wager a guess. 

Still, the reports claimed to have found 10 bodies that the crew of the Avenger knew couldn’t confirm existed. Romanoff brushes it off on the sealed rooms they weren’t able to get to. 

The second time hadn’t been much better. They arrived in time to see Iron Man enter his ship and cloak. This time the destruction was vast across a Hammer shipyard and there were evacuees, some casualties as a result of the panic but, like before, they’d had to vacate the area before another Alliance vessel arrived. James had almost fought Rogers on it. They were cloaked and with all of the radiation leaking into the air their chances of being caught and questioned were slim. 

He was shot down immediately. 

Within 24 hours the Alliance releases a report on 43 fatalities as a result of the attack. In the briefing room James couldn’t stop rubbing the itchy, healing skin above his transmitter. 

Without much else to do, Rogers puts him in Engineering until they get another lead. If it’s meant to be a punishment for challenging him, Rogers is barking up the wrong tree. It’s easy to lose himself in the maintenance work. Some of which has changed in his absence, but he catches up quick. 

He’s deep in the bowels of the engine room, running routine checks overnight, mildly surprised that Rogers trusts him with this and then again wondering if he even knows, replacing the panel on one of the conduits he’s been working on when it occurs to him. 

He’s been running --the man they’ve come to call-- Jarvis’ words through his mind on an endless loop for lack of something better to do. The panel clicks shut and seals automatically leaving him to rock back on his heels and root around for his canteen of water. 

Jarvis was adamant that nothing they were seeing was what it seemed. His doubts about the errant code notwithstanding, he wonders if it’s designed to be overlooked. Any Alliance intelligence team would dismiss it after prodding it for a while. They, after all, had bigger problems to worry over. 

It could be that Iron Man was just laughing his ass off somewhere about the Alliance chasing its tail, but he was already doing that, probably. So if the code wasn’t a mistake and it wasn’t designed to just piss them off, then it had to be meant for something or maybe someone. Right?

It’s short work to pull up his last used files and his eyebrows rise at seeing it having been opened sometime in the night, but dismisses it as an accident. Bruce sometimes uses his console --because James’d selfishly picked the only one with a good chair-- and might have been poking at it in boredom. 

With the code laid out before him, he tweaks the parameters of his searches. They’ve been looking for locations mostly, in hopes that it might point them to some kind of target or base of operations. James runs his search again and broadens the parameters when he gets nothing. 

When he’d left, the Alliance seized all of his remaining personal effects and communications records. Personal logs were no longer off limits and certainly anything meant to be private between himself and Tony were fair game. 

He extends his search to include private communiques going back as far as their academy days. Thousands of messages flit past his eyes on the screen and he catches snatches of conversation here and there with the usual tightness building in his chest. 

The temptation rears up hot and ugly as it has since he first caught wind of his personal logs being included in the files released to him for the search. It would be so easy to get lost in this, to swipe through message after message. He hasn’t since that first night alone at his console. Hours spent just listening to the distinct cadence of Anthony Edward Stark’s voice as a boy well on his way to adulthood. 

He consciously navigates away from several more personal messages, at the height of their foolish teenage avoidance of their feelings for one another, and takes another sip of water before resting the cool metal of the bottle against his forehead. 

He’s so completely thrown by an affirmative chime that he blinks stupidly at the screen for a moment before scrambling to parse through the results. 

Result, actually. Just one. He snorts as he reads through Tony’s irritated message, venting his anger about Justin Hammer reporting the unique frequency of their transmitter to the headmaster. Of course they were never caught. Tony had worked feverishly that night to change it and add in some extra protections to avoid further detection. 

Technically, body modifications such as theirs weren’t allowed at the Academy level or really for any minor. Post graduation, your body was your body so long as you weren’t continuing on with a military career. His upgrades had kept James safe from detection from then on. 

The message itself peters out, asking James to meet him for dinner later in the day before abruptly ending. He has to scroll through it again, a furrow in his brow searching for an adequate answer then takes another look at the code his eyes widening. 

It’s not a secret message or coordinates. It’s a frequency, not Alliance or Stark Labs affiliated. 

A tap on his shoulder jarrs his concentration and has him swinging around, ready to snap, only to end up glaring into the wide eyed expression of a lieutenant relieving him of duty. With trembling fingers, and a mumbled apology, he powers everything down and heads back to his quarters, activating a ‘do not disturb’ mode to keep Bruce from pestering him about breakfast. 

He doesn’t intend to stop until he has this. 

———

They stop at Knowhere when another week goes by without an Iron Man sighting or hit on the signal. 

Fury greets them once they land, sweeping onto the Avenger with irritation apparent on his face. The Alliance isn't happy, and that means he’s not happy. So, James picks up his bag on the way out of the door of his quarters, cataloging his belongings as he goes. He’s wearing most of his effects, not that he has much, but everything he might not be able to live without if he has to ditch. 

Fury gave his word that he’d be safe, but Fury’s word also depends on his mission’s success, and if he’s here to put the pressure on them, James prefers to be ready for anything. He’ll steal a ship if he has to, but he refuses to pretend that the others wouldn’t just offer him up to keep their superiors happy. Bruce and Bucky accompany him as Fury demands to speak with Rogers and Romanoff alone.

As soon as the door hisses shut on Rogers’ office and the yelling starts, Bucky winces and shakes his head. 

“And that is why I’m the XO. The only person who yells at me is Steve,” he says with a grimace as the volume increases. 

\-------

Knowhere is crowded as always, beings of all kinds walk the streets. Some drunkenly stumble out of bars here and there while there’s always some kind of brawl happening. At least today it’s in the far distance, spilling out of an establishment James can’t make out the name of. 

They bypass most of it, taking a few shortcuts to land them in the heart of a bustling marketplace. The noise level ebbs and flows as shopkeepers call out, trying to entice buyers into their shops. The less reputable ones don’t even bother. If you know where to find them, then you know what they’re all about. No need to advertise. 

Their little shopping excursion is less about any kind of leave time and more about filling the grocery list Barnes has been sent with. A wish list of spare parts from engineering that are always good to have on hand. There was also food in the list,and a few more mundane items as well. 

The rest of the crew is out and about picking up any personal items they’re after. Annoyed that no one thought to ask him, James rolls his eyes and peers over Barnes’ list, eager to get some time alone. Maybe he can get a message out to Val and Carol. If the wind is really blowing the way he thinks it is, he’d like to meet up with them again once it’s safe. 

They divide up the list, Barnes heads one way towards food and Bruce and James get stuck with engineering supplies. Not all the way useless. Still he wishes Bruce had gone with Barnes. He’s not sure he can take the disappointed look his friend will level at him once he realizes James is planning to duck out. 

Bruce smiles at him as he shoves his glasses up his nose, for once not dressed in his uniform and instead is wearing an ill fitting brown jacket, grey pants and boots. James sighs. He’s not looking forward to being separated again, no matter how much he genuinely does enjoy solitude. He claps a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and resolves himself to enjoy what time they have. 

The first few stalls they hit are small and full of household junk. Kitchen devices and parts for a sonic shower that they don’t need. After Bruce’s third pick doesn’t pan out, James jerks his head in the direction of a well worn path. On memory alone his feet carry him.

Tony had dragged him down this exact street so many times, he hardly has to do more than glance about to get his bearings. The shop he’s looking for is one of the nicer ones. Well lit, mostly organized, less of a scrap heap, but definitely more expensive. The owner, an independent Kree man, passed a few years back and his daughter runs the business now. 

He catches her eye from the other end of the shop, near the back entrance where some of her more illicit items are stored, and lifts a hand in greeting. She waves back, long pink hair swept over her bare blue shoulders as she turns to grab a box off a shelf to her right. He’s got his back turned when she sweeps past him with a client on her heels. Probably not buying a weapon from the back then if she’s taking them upfront. 

This close to the front of the house, he can just barely hear their conversation over the overall noise of the place. Not that it’s any of his business. But he does like to keep an eye out for her. She usually has no qualms about putting special oddities aside for him to peruse when he stops by. He inches closer, keeping an eye on Bruce poking around at some equipment not too far from him and can hear the tail end of their conversation. Just enough to make his entire body freeze up. 

He wants to ignore it. Reminds himself that he’s been here before, that he’s hearing things that aren’t there. Wishful thinking taking him too far into desperation. Except...except...He’s heard Tony’s voice recently. Younger, brighter, full of that spitfire energy that couldn’t seem to be matched. 

This voice isn’t that. It’s too deep and raspy. A weight he’s accustomed to, that leaves him unsure and with a heavy amount of “Not again” not just pulling him down, but sending his heart racing all the same. 

Then the man laughs, a rich sound bubbling up to mingle with Mira’s peals. His hand slips on the shelf he’d been leaning on and the noise causes them both to look up. He wishes he had the strength to keep his head down. He’s been here before. So many times. 

He’s weak and because of this, his head immediately jerks up and his eyes don’t stop searching until he finds a pair of...electric blue eyes. Disappointment curls within him viciously. The nose is off and the cheekbones are more rounded and less high or sharp, even his complexion is off, far more pale than Tony ever was on any given day. The man looks back at him and flinches minutely, and God, what his face must look like. The man’s smile is strained as he conducts the rest of his business and hustles out of the door, dark hair slicked back but flopping to the side as he walks briskly away. 

Bruce rushes past him, shocking him out of his daze, as he hangs out of the door, looking down the street. 

“What?” James asks. 

“I just, I could have sworn I saw,” he says looking shaken. James opens his mouth to tell him but Bruce barrells on. “Armor, red and gold, beneath his sleeve. I could be wrong...but...did you see that?” 

He curses internally. He hadn’t. He’d been too busy seeing ghosts to notice. 

“We could check it out,” James says. There’s no harm. They still have eyes on him after all. 

They keep their distance, just a few shops back here and there. Stopping themselves a few times to look busy and blend in as best they can. The man moves unhurried compared to how fast as he left the shop and James is sure he’s at least aware of being tailed if he’s not already made them from before. That’s 5 different stops now without a purchase. No one likes shopping here that much. Knowhere is very much a get in and get out kind of experience. He’s leading them somewhere. James turns his back, while Bruce continues to keep an eye out, and hails the ship. 

“I read you,” Wilson comes over the line immediately. 

“We scanned for any ships matching the ship we saw on Titus, right?"

"Been running one continuously since we docked. Nothing." 

Of course. They're likely using multiple ships to prevent just that, but there are things even Iron Man can't get around. 

"Have you checked for the signal?" 

"Kind of pointless here," Rogers comes over the line. "You got something, Rhodes?" 

"Possibly. Can you scan for the signal here?" 

They start to debate it over the line. There's a lot of traffic here to monitor after all. James just stares ahead, unwilling to take his eyes off the man as he ducks into another shop. What are the odds that they'd catch him alone on Knowhere? 

Very unlikely. But it's not like they can ignore it either and perhaps that's the objective here. Draw them in so he can turn around and give them a bloody nose. That doesn't feel right either, though. If that were his plan, he could have hit them harder on Titus or any of the other times they've just barely crossed paths. 

"What the hell is he doing?" James mutters. 

"Maybe he's meeting someone?" Bruce suggests. And if that's the case, they really should be covering the other side of the building. He says as much and Bruce peels off to do just that. Rogers is in his ear alerting them that Barnes and Romanoff have been dispatched as backup and should be at their position shortly. 

The man is quite fidgety. He shifts from foot to foot, hands always in motion. James tracks the pattern, clearly visible from his spot just outside the door posted up against a column. The man sweeps his hands through his dark hair, musing already wild looking curls, drags a hand down the back of his neck to scratch at the skin there, before moving his hands and tapping just off the center of his chest. 

A sort of staccato rhythm that picks up at each repetition. He's moving from display to display and spends a good amount of time at each one before moving on. James counts exactly 60 seconds between each one. 

It's mostly curiosity that makes him do it. That niggling at the back of his thoughts, pressing him to push and shove until every piece of the puzzle is in place revealing its secrets. He thumbs at the sensors in his forearm and with a quick series of swipes and taps, changes the frequency his transmitter is operating on. 

In his ear there's a low whine as the transmitter clicks on and adjusts. Three long tones indicate there is connection. In the beginning, after he'd been forced to concede on the merits of his search, he'd lie back in his bed and tap his neck, waiting for those tones. 

With his nose pressed to a pillow clean and devoid of any scents but his own he'd just listen to the low hum of static stretching endlessly. Always hoping to hear something, anything to soothe that ache. Hoping for proof that there was hope to be had in the first place. 

His father was adamant that it wasn't healthy. His sister begged for him to remove it during what turned into one of their most vicious arguments when he couldn't get past the immediate horror the idea brought. None of which compares to the lurch of his stomach at the sound of a hitching breath, so soft he almost believes he's imagined it. 

"Eta two minutes," Barnes says over comms. "What's he doing now? Rhodes? Banner?" 

Bruce answers for him, the sound muted under the rapid beating of his heart and the sound of blood roaring in his ears. How many times had he wished? It's not real. It can't be. There's a number of explanations that could be at play here. He doesn't even know who's on the other side of this. Not with any kind of certainty. 

While he's been rooted to his spot outside, the man suddenly straightens, lengthening his spine, making him appear taller. He turns and it's only a matter of seconds until he's right up in James's space, hands lifted in a placating gesture as James instinctively unholsters his side arm and trains it point blank at the man’s chest. 

Electric blue eyes pin him in place with their intensity. They're so bright it's like something otherworldly has lit them from the inside. It sends a shiver down his spine both thrilling and terrifying in tandem. 

There's a lot of screaming in his ears, all from different voices, that makes him wince. He taps the earbud he's worn out with the crew to tune them out. It's too much all at once. His focus comes back gradually narrowing in on the man in front of him. 

James watches him bring his gauntlet covered arm up, showing off red and gold metal and lets out a gasp as the metal seems to shift and climb up his arm, multiplying where there was none to cover every bit of skin. The metal races across his shoulders winding until there’s nothing left but a suit of armor with a gleaming light in it’s chest, so familiar and yet different his breath stutters in his chest. 

Because of what he sees, he forgets where he is, what he’s supposed to be doing, that he should be on his guard or that he’s in any kind of danger at all. 

‘If he were going to kill you he’d have done it by now.’ His brain supplies. As if that solves it all. His finger twitches on the trigger. The other man takes a deep breath and it echoes in the transmitter. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask him why. Why he’s killing people. Why he’s hell bent on destruction. Why he’s dragged them all here. No, not them. Just him. That much is obvious. He just can’t wrap his mind around the reason for it, can’t let his mind go where he desperately wants to wander. 

“If you’re gonna shoot me, I’d rather you get on with it,” Iron Man’s voice is a deeper rumble, still honeyed and light for all the tension he carries, though that is bleeding out of him by the second as evidenced by the small twitch of his lips. The corner lifting like a spectre. “We’ve got places to be today, after all.” 

It’s unmistakable. James inhales sharply and can’t seem to stop. Like there’s not enough air to rattle around in his lungs. He wobbles on unsteady legs, embarrassed at how quickly he unravels in the face of such trickery. It’s a trap. It has to be. Some kind of cruel plan. 

“You fucking bastard,” James growls, snarls really, when Iron Man reaches out to catch him by the shoulders, mirth dancing in his eyes. The tight grip on his arms keeps him from lifting his weapon and firing. Just unloading shot after shot into the man who likely helped pry Tony’s body from his suit to take his work. To steal from him. 

“Whoa, hey, I’ve got you, Platypus,” Iron Man tells him. James squeezes his eyes tight against the endearment he never thought he’d hear again. There’s a lot of activity all of a sudden. Their back-up is here. How long they’ve been there he doesn’t know. He needs to get his bearings and do what he came aboard the Avenger to do in the first place. He needs—

“You need to open your eyes,” soft now, coaxing and sweet beneath the shouts of everyone around him. “I promise you, it’s going to be okay. Just open them, please.” 

Sure, what the hell? He’s so bone tired all of a sudden. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything else right now but open his eyes slowly, blinking rapidly to focus and nearly drops his gun in the process. 

Iron Man’s got a metal hand resting on his own cheek, fingers pinching at the skin. Something flickers around that spot, fine lines spark along the metal, they grow longer as he pulls at his skin. Inch by inch a flickering veil slides across olive toned skin, revealing a carefully designed beard outlining a familiar strong jawline, high cheekbones, more prominent than he remembers but with a light flush of red beneath the skin. 

He follows the slope of his nose and notes the loss of the tiny bump from a break he got courtesy of a school yard fight when they were eleven, it’s missing along with the scar just under his right eyebrow earned as a result of a lab explosion they promised to take to their graves at age thirteen. 

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipOBJlJMh4EByc5fXchax5QQ992eSUvB11meHKr7OxEA2RC877d7TctP865W5B-Amg?key=UlVmaWhhd3puVnNFNVNJckYyWEw4a005X1kyYmtn&source=ctrlq.org)  


The eyes do him in. 

Electric blue recedes slowly, as if the other man is reading his thoughts, or maybe just sees him searching for that last bit of home he’s been missing. Whiskey brown eyes drink him in inviting him to do the same. 

He feels like he’s been scraped raw from the inside out. Wrong footed but somehow also standing on even ground. Their foreheads meet in a soft bump of warm skin and heated puffs of breath on his cheeks. 

“H-how is this--I can’t—” he stumbles over his words still not able to fully accept it. 

Still worries that it’s a trick. A hallucination of some kind built on wishful thinking and desperation. He’d have done anything even minutes ago to have this. To have some semblance of this. He doesn’t think he could conjure up anything this real. And even if it was all a lie, he knows he doesn’t have the strength to let go. 

“Later, Rhodey,” Tony says at a near whisper. “We need to go now.” 

“Go?” He repeats uncomprehending. 

“Yeah, can’t be a rescue if we don’t actually, you know, go,” Tony tells him, smile wide and blinding. 

“Rescue?” He feels sluggish, like he’s missed something important. There’s noise all around them that starts to come back in sharp focus. Just over Tony's shoulder Bruce stands with Barnes at his side. Barnes has his gun drawn, aimed directly at Tony's unprotected head. James's hold firms around his weapon and he's already lifting his arm to aim at the XO, a mixture of fear and adrenaline coursing through him. 

He's already lost Tony once, he refuses to fail again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pokes head in* Hi!!!!!! 
> 
> I'm terribly sorry that I'm so late with this! My life took a turn and then it took another turn and we had one too many family members in and out of the hospital and now I'm self isolating because I have an underlying illness and here we are! I actually had this chapter done for a bit but I didn't want to post anything until I had everything done. So here we go! This is a completed story! 
> 
> Beta'd by PinkGold! All mistakes that you see are my own!
> 
> Thank you for your patience with me and I hope you enjoy reading!

He doesn't understand at first. They must have all seen. 

Tony's alive! 

He's Iron Man and there's something else at play here. Something worth setting down their weapons and hashing out. He turns his head and looks up, thanks to the height of the suit, to find Tony's expression darkening. It's beautiful, he thinks, simply because he's here and whole if very different from the man he used to imagine. One thing that seems to have not changed, though, is the way he folds back that softness from before and shapes it into something hard. Something unyielding like the metal of his suit. So much more dangerous than Rhodey remembers. It’s a reminder of the time that’s passed them by. 

Tony was always dangerous in his own way. His intelligence was as sharp as a blade and just as deadly with the things he’d had a hand in building. What had taken that young man Rhodey knew, bright with excitement at just the prospect of knowledge, and molded him into this? Where has he been? 

It occurs to Rhodey that this is the man that they’ve been hunting all this time. The man accused of so much death and ruin that the Alliance not only sought to capture him, but put him to death for his crimes. He expects to feel afraid but the feeling doesn’t come, barely even registers. 

Instead, he takes in the crew surrounding them. 

He casts a look over his shoulder to see Romanoff and Barton training their weapons not on Tony, but on him. Tony raises both his arms and there's a high pitched whine of power building up like he's never heard before. 

He moves more surely now that he knows what they're up against. He hadn't even realized his other hand had come to rest on the armor's hip until he has to lift it to steady his gun now standing at Tony's shoulder. 

“Told you I’d catch up,” Tony tells him, grim smile in place. An echo of the boyish smile he remembers. He used to be able to call up that smile just from memory but it’s become harder to place until all he could remember were minute details. 

Tiny things that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. He wonders if Tony’s eyes still go bright when he laughs. If that small quirk at the corner of his mouth that only seemed to occur when Rhodey caught him looking still existed. Or had it been wiped away with all the years they’d spent apart? Or if it hadn’t, was it still just for him? 

"I take it there's some kind of plan here?” Rhodey turns his attention back to the situation at hand. He won’t have time to figure any of this out if they don’t make it out of here. And he has no intention of cooling his heels in an Alliance prison waiting to be executed for treason. 

"Just waiting on a friend. Two minutes and we're gone,” Tony answers. 

Rhodey thinks of the kid in the iron suit and flicks a quick glance to the skies where dozens of different ships make their way to and from the hangar bay on the far side of the station. 

"Stand down, Rhodes!” Romanoff calls out, tone as placid as ever. And he notes that even looking into the face of a dead man she isn't surprised. None of them are. His eyes search out Bruce and finds the man oddly smiling. Huh. 

"Kind of don't want to, all things considered.” 

“We don’t want to hurt either of you. We only want to talk, Stark.” 

“Slight problem there, Romanoff. It’s just, when I see your lips moving, I already know you’re lying to me.” 

She curses beneath her breath in frustration. Without looking, Rhodey can picture the sardonic smile on Tony’s face. Two minutes he’d said. A minute and forty five seconds left to go by his count. 

“She’s not lying, Stark.” 

_ Fury. _

Rhodey’s finger tenses on the trigger but steadies himself between that hair-raising second and the next. 

He wants to look behind him, but with the way Barnes shifts, centering his aim on Tony’s skull, he doesn’t. In turn Rhodey trains his sights on the dead center of Barnes’ forehead and meets the XO’s narrowed gaze steady and unwavering. 

He doesn’t know how quickly Tony can get a helmet on or if it’ll be fast enough to block the shot if it comes but he knows he won’t hesitate to fire back. Won’t hesitate to ensure Tony’s safety ever again. 

Which, it seems the man himself has taken into account. A soft click and whirr sounds beside him like metal plates separating and shifting at Tony's shoulder and subsequently Rhodey's. The plates shift back, folding over each other to smooth out as if they hadn't opened at all. 

The whirring gradually increases to a hum, vibrating warmth spreads along the curvature of his spine then slides outward until it’s right beside him thrumming in his ears forcing his attention away from Barnes at last. He jolts, the hair on his arms and neck rising to attention at the sight of, not one or two, but four metal columns curved and lit with mini repulsor beams charging steadily. The air around him is charged with these columns at his shoulders. 

"I'd drop your weapon, Barnes," Rhodey says, not sounding nearly as authoritative as he does awed. And not just by the high powered whine of, what appears to be, half a dozen repulsors Tony apparently just carries on his back ready to obliterate an enemy at a moments notice. 

Barnes's jaw goes slack and his skin pales. He shifts to the side and the columns follow even that minute movement ensuring imminent destruction no matter what he does. There's no option he could choose, no strategy he can employ to avoid a shot from the columns. 

The realization flits across the XO's face and he slowly lowers his arm to his side. The blaster in his hand clatters to the ground next to his boots. 

"Could you take care of that for me?" Tony asks casually, as if asking about Asgardian trade routes. Rhodey goes to take a step forward but is shocked into place when Bruce's booted foot darts out and kicks the blaster forward, sending it skittering across the dirt a foot away from Rhodey, who quickly picks it up and aims it at Barnes. 

He's gaping now, he knows it, much like Barnes who turns sharply to glare at his crew mate. Bruce Banner shrugs in that affable way that makes him look so very innocuous. So easily overlooked. 

"Thanks Bruce, knew I could count on you," Tony tosses over his shoulder. 

"You're with him now?" Barnes barks at him. Bruce doesn't even flinch. Just raises his eyebrows and calmly pulls the pistol at his hip and trains it on him.

"Always was, James," Bruce still sounds rather awkward about the whole thing. He jerks his head in the direction of the others. "With the others, please." 

Barnes bares his teeth at him but grins and bears it as he stalks over to the other side, not sparing either of them another look. Two columns follow him, clearly locked onto his signature. Rhodey turns now to look at the force opposite with Bruce while two columns apparently monitor their backs. Bruce just gives a little nod of acknowledgement when he keeps looking back to be sure that they’re still there hovering like some kind of drones. 

Barnes and Barton look even more furious next to the impassive Fury and Romanoff. Fury always did like keeping himself several steps ahead. It was something Rhodey had come to accept under his leadership. Never quite knowing all of the facts but trusting Nick to keep them in the right. That his commanding officer wouldn’t lead him astray. Yeah, he’s still bitter about the whole thing. Even more so now that the man doesn’t bat an eyelash at a man back from the dead. 

“It’s been a while, Uncle Nick,” Tony gives a sharp smile. “Good couple of years if I recall. ” 

Because of course the other man knew this whole time. Anger bubbles up within him so quickly his head swims. He has to fight to stay in the moment instead of going back over every interaction. Combing over every conversation before everything went to shit where Fury actually had the gall to reminisce with him and commiserate on Tony’s absence. 

Just how long had the other man watched Rhodey self-destruct while searching for a supposed dead man? All the way back to that afternoon where he convinced Rhodey to give up his life? Further? 

“You knew,” he spits, dangerously close to squeezing on his trigger to the memory of Nick clapping a hand on his shoulder as he followed the rest of the mourners from the Stark family plot. 

“Sure did,” Tony confirms while Fury levels them both with a cool one eyed glare. “Knew where you were this whole time too. Made a very convincing argument that he didn’t though. Said it was for the best, didn’t you, Nick?” 

“Everything I do is in service of the greater good. You know this,” Fury explains as if that makes it better, “You knew that when all this started, Stark, and you damn well know it now. That’s why I’m here. I think I’ve been more than patient with you.” 

“Uh..what?” Rhodey wants to know, because from what it sounds like Fury has been in contact with Tony more recently than he suspected. 

“Where is it, Stark?” Romanoff demands as Fury sighs in irritation. 

“Romanoff,” Fury growls but the woman steps forward uncharacteristically ignoring her superior with a growing look of impatience. 

“He’s got what he came for. The payment was Rhodes safe return for the location of the device. I’m tired of your games, Stark.” 

“Oh but I thought we were having so much fun, Natasha,” Tony says emphasizing the name with an upwards lilt of his voice. “You used to like intrigue. Care to weigh in here, Uncle Nick?” 

He says it mockingly but Fury doesn’t react and that…that’s not right at all. Fury is a full bird Colonel, what the hell is he doing conceding command to a Commander at best? 

“I like results. I want the device your father created, the one you claimed to know nothing about even as you searched for it same as us. You’ll hand it over as agreed or I will personally make sure your little rescue is all for nothing. If I leave with nothing so will you.” 

Tony laughs, a hollow little sound with very little mirth.

“Who says I’m planning on letting you leave?”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Romanoff’s soft voice belies a cruel little smile. “He could have lived, unknowing and unhappy but still breathing all the same. He’d never have known that you gambled with his life.” 

“I would never—” Tony snaps but Romanoff plows on sounding exasperated by the entire proceedings while Fury stands by head ducked low in deference.

“Rogers lock on Rhodes.” 

Something hits him hard in his chest making him stumble back on his feet. He expects a bloom of pain or burn from a blast but nothing of the sort occurs. What he experiences at first is an intense shock of cool air that rushes over his skin. When he looks down at his chest he sees a triangular casing of what looks like an arc reactor similar to that in the dead center of Tony’s suit. From it particles of metal multiply and spread over him within one eye blink and the next he’s surrounded by it. A suit, he assumes without being able to see much himself once the helmet materializes and faceplate snaps closed over his face protecting him from what he can’t see. 

The darkness inside gives way to bright lights, too much all at once for him to take in, but he now has a HUD in front of him that displays the scene he’s actually been knocked back, not quite off his feet but out of the range of a blast from Romanoff’s side arm. The beam glances off the dark metal just barely skimming the surface. 

“J, take him up!” 

“Wait!” 

Someone else opens fire. Rhodey doesn’t get a chance to see who as he’s distracted by the thrusters below his feet and hands firing up beyond his control. The suit seems to be following Tony’s commands. It’s going to take him away from here. 

And that does send fear racing through him. He can’t leave Tony. He won’t! He twists in the suit flailing and trying desperately to gain some kind of control to stay with Tony on the ground and fight. Barton has opened fire along with Romanoff, aiming for Tony and Bruce, and Rhodey is still struggling when another suit lands in front of the doctor absorbing the hits while wrapping arms around his waist and engaging the boot thrusters all in one solid move. It’s in the air and speeding up and away while Rhodey shouts. 

“Tony!” 

“I’ll be right behind you!” Tony says. 

“Sir, I must insist you desist,” Jarvis’ voice still has the ability to stop him cold. He realizes his mistake too late however as the suit locks up immediately after he stops struggling. The Avenger is there now, hovering over the buildings, kicking up wind and sending anything not bolted to the ground scattering away. Anyone else in the vicinity scrambles to get to safety.

Up close, the Avenger seems so impossibly large that terror grips him. He’ll get shredded if the ship opens fire, which it does. With a startling jerk, Jarvis pulls him out of the way of the blast that takes the roof off a building behind him. Tony fires at the ship, drawing attention away from him. 

Oh God, if it hits him. He can’t do much more than squirm. The suit turns and he’s hurtling higher, further away from the conflict below. Above him a ship decloaks, shimmering as it comes into view with an opening the suit seems to redirect and aim for. His heart constricts at the sounds the suit filters in from the outside, sounding more distant by the second.

Tony is trading fire alone back there and he can’t do a damn thing about it. 

———-

He shoots through the open hatch, which really just looks like an appropriately sized hole on the port side of the ship. Shaped specifically for their entry. The thrusters slow, decreasing power in small increments until he hovers barely two feet from the floor before cutting out completely. His landing is unsteady and would’ve been heavy on his knees if not for the hydraulics bracing him for impact. He still ends up strewn across the deck of what, upon a closer, less imminent life threatening danger, look, is a cargo bay. 

“Send me back!” Rhodey shouts, breaths coming hard and fast in the empty space. He needs to see. He needs to know. 

“Sir requests that you stay aboard the ship. He’s safe, I can assure you,” Jarvis speaks from inside the helmet. An image displays of him evading fire and heading for the ship. Rhodey’s breath evens out at the sight. The confirmation that this isn’t like before steadies him. 

Getting a better look around he finds that he’s lucky he didn’t go careening into any of the equipment stored here. There’s bits and pieces strewn about, parts of the engine, power couplings littering several work tables. What look like high powered robotic arms extend down from the ceiling and light up one by one as if sensing his presence. 

One even flies forward, there’s a fluidity in its movement without any of the jerky motions he’s accustomed to in space repair rigs. It comes toward him so quickly he scrambles back until he hits the bulkhead surrounding him, clanking hard against the metal of the suit. The claw of the arm extends its pincers and clacks open and close inches from his nose but doesn’t move any further. There’s a soft sort of whirr that it makes along with several beeps. The arm moves up and down, curves along his jaw and clicks at his ears curiously. 

“Uh, hi?” Rhodey doesn’t get the impression it’s planning on hurting him. With how sharp it’s claw is, he’s sure with enough force it could plunge straight through his chest if it was so inclined. Besides, this is Tony’s ship, which means Tony created this thing and if Tony created it then it must be friendly. 

He lifts his hand and the arm jerks back, cautiously beeping and weaving away from him. It hovers a safe distance away just over Rhodey’s bent knees. The claw clicks open then closed and abruptly Rhodey feels the metal surrounding him recede. It skitters across his skin plate by plate folding back to minuscule particles into the arc reactor housing on his chest. 

The cool metal of the floor starts immediately seeping through his pants but he doesn’t make any sudden movements to stand up. Instead, he slowly raises his hands. The claw tilts curiously at him and inches closer hesitantly. It comes to a stop just before his nose again and he feels like it’s watching him, though he can’t even discern a camera to look at. 

Slow and steady he reaches out with his left hand and runs the tips of his fingers along the strut leading up to the claw then back again. The surface is warm at least and the arm trills lowly. 

“See, nothing to worry about,” Rhodey smiles. The arm jerks back again but it doesn’t seem to be in panic. The floor in front of Rhodey separates much like the suit, peeling back to reveal a hatch that wasn’t there before. Tony’s suit shoots through and the floor closes behind him. He kills the thrusters and lands on both feet easily. Of course. 

The suit peels back much like Rhodey’s had, sliding into the housing on Tony’s chest, where his arc reactor…used to be. His heart is in his throat as he gets his first full glimpse of Tony in years. Damn if he’s not going to look his fill either. 

The suit added height but not too much. Tony sinks a good couple inches back down, much closer to Rhodey’s level, as the suit pulls away. He’s left in his attire from the marketplace and Rhodey finds it’s impossible to not catalog the differences from his memories. From the curl of his too long hair and the neatly trimmed beard to the suspicious lack of aging. He’s bulked up from when Rhodey last saw him and just thinking of it has his breath catching in his throat. 

He just sees bright brown eyes staring back at him, a slender suit sucked out into space. It’s like there’s not enough air to be had in the cargo bay. He tries to inhale deeply but it’s like there’s been a cap placed on how much he can have. He releases each stunted breath with a shudder blinking back wetness forming at the corners of his eyes. The last hour of his life crashes over him like a wave, fills him up with too much of everything all at once. Horror at having abandoned Tony to fight alone, anger at Bruce and even a little for Tony, so much hope he can barely stand it, and fear that threatens to smother him with doubt. 

“Hey-hey!” Tony’s crouched before him now, hands hovering just over Rhodey’s shoulders, flexing anxiously. Rhodey isn’t even aware of when the other man had moved or when he’d closed his eyes and he ends up just sort of blinking dumbly at him.

“You’re okay,” Tony soothes. “You’re safe here, Rhodey—” 

“James,” Rhodey croaks the correction. “I prefer James now. I haven’t been called Rhodey since—since—“ 

There’s a flash of something solemn and sullen behind the earnest openness Tony projects. There one second and gone in the next eye blink. Tony just nods. 

“That’s right,” a small smile stretches across his lips. “Bruce mentioned something like that. Whatever you want. Can I touch you? Is that okay?” 

Rhodey wants to take it back immediately. He means to say that he’s missed being called by his nickname. Missed the accompanying warmth and familiarity that it brought. Wants to tell him that when he lost Tony, and soon thereafter any loyalty toward the Alliance, ‘James’ was what he was left with. 

The moment passes them by as Rhodey jerks his head in a nod and Tony’s hands drop his shoulders. He can feel the heat from them burning through his jacket but knows that’s impossible. He’s imagining the sensation but not the firm grip Tony has on him. Strong fingers press into him, grounding him in the here and now. He’s not on the station, he’s not watching Tony disappear. Tony’s right here in front of him. 

He grasps Tony’s outstretched arms hands balling into fists in the soft leather. Tony doesn’t hesitate when Rhodey pulls him forward into his chest. He just goes like it’s nothing and ends up on his knees between Rhodey’s thighs with his arms wrapped around his shoulders while Rhodey slips his grasp around to Tony’s back. He has his forehead pressed against Tony’s chest and doesn’t stop squirming until he can hear the rhythmic thudding of Tony’s heart in his chest. It’s not the skipped beat he was used to, but he’s content just for the moment to listen and relearn. 

A tremor runs through them both once and then twice. The third time they’re almost jostled from each other but they both tighten their hold almost instinctively. Tony huffs an annoyed breath above him. 

“Never a dull moment, huh?” 

“Is that—”

“Tony!” A woman’s voice cracks over the quiet like a whip. “We have a problem, get your ass up here!” 

“Pep-light of my life. Kind of having a moment here.” 

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry. I’m just, you know, trying to keep my ship from falling apart!” 

“My ship,” Tony grumbles. 

Another tremor has them actually separating. It’s strong enough to have Tony rocking back on his heels and reaching back to steady himself. 

“We should be cloaked! Why aren’t we cloaked?” 

“It’s been damaged. It seems whoever else you pissed off down there called in reinforcements. They’re trying to follow our jumps and doing a damn good job at it!” 

They’ve been jumping? He didn’t feel a thing. How can they be jumping without either of them being thrown across the room?

“How the hell did they take out our cloaking device?” Tony’s jaw tightens. 

Rhodey flinches as he watches the brown of Tony’s eyes recede into electric blue. It’s kind of beautiful to look at once the shock subsides. That is, until Tony’s hands spark a bright orange. The glow starts in his fingertips and races up the veins of his exposed forearms. He sees it again at his throat and the spider web of veins lit up across his neck that flows up to his cheek bones. What in the actual fuck is that? 

“A lucky shot?” Tony growls suddenly, though Rhodey hasn’t heard whether Pepper said anything else. “There are no goddamned lucky shots! How did they target—ugh! Alright, alright! We’re on our way!” 

He turns his attention back to Rhodey, who isn’t even a little bit ashamed at the way his jaw has dropped open and he unabashedly stares at the other man. 

“You’re—and then you—and orange?” 

“Yeah, I know, there’s a lot to explain,” Tony says. He offers a hand to Rhodey, still glowing. “It’ll have to wait.” 

“Um, what?” Rhodey says a bit hysterically as he stares at Tony’s outstretched hand like it might bite him. 

“You coming?” 

Shakily Rhodey grasps his hand, alarmed briefly at the heat against his palm but it doesn’t burn. It’s like he’s shoved his hand too close to the plasma injectors of an engine. In seconds the heat fades to something more pleasant and less worrisome. 

Tony pulls him to his feet and he’s chagrined to see that they are actually about the same height now. Tony smirks as if he knows exactly what Rhodey’s just puzzled out and he can’t resist rolling his eyes at the younger man. 

“We’re gonna need to jump the ship and go to light speed. It’s just a prototype and I can’t do that on my own right now. I need your help.” 

“I can help!” A young voice comes over the intercom and Tony grimaces. 

“Harley, so help me if you go near the engine room I’ll have you scrubbing the inside of the waste extraction units for a month! You and Peter stay on the bridge. Help Pepper keep whoever is coming for us off our backs!” 

“Tony are you sure about this? There’s no keeping a lid on this once they see what this ship can really do,” Pepper reminds him. 

Tony shrugs. “They were going to find out sooner or later. Might as well be now.” 

—-

Tony’s ship is called the Invincible and it’s not actually Tony’s ship. Or it is? There seems to be an ongoing debate about ownership between him and Captain Potts that doesn’t seem like it’ll be resolved any time soon. If ever. 

From what Rhodey can parse through the bickering and bantering as they race from the cargo bay to the engine room Tony built the ship himself with an assist from someone named J. Jarvis, he wonders? And the hull is built almost entirely out of nanobots, the same material from Tony’s suit. It allows the ship to self heal as Tony calls it, because that’s the other thing: part of the ship is alive according to him, but that’s neither here nor there as they finally reach the engine room and find a young man waiting for them. Dressed in a shiny black undersuit, he gives Rhodey the stink eye as they approach, only looking away when Tony starts yelling at him. It’s only just then that he recognizes him from that day on Titus looking no more stubborn than he did before.

“—told you to stay on the bridge!” 

“And you’ll need more than two people—“ 

“—like you’re incapable of listening, Harley—“ 

“Oh, speak for yourself old man! I’m helping! It’s what you would do!” 

Tony and the boy glare at each other fiercely for a moment before the kid slams his hand on the panel outside the door and storms inside the second the door lifts. Tony gets a little smile on his face, prideful by the looks of things, as he turns to Rhodey before heading inside. 

“Kids these days!” 

Inside there’s a sublight engine that bathes the room in a blue hue and a larger cylindrical apparatus that seems to surround it extending down from the ceiling. There’s a gap between that and the sunlight engine with wires hanging down. Tony taps the housing on his chest and then taps at Rhodey’s instantly covering them in armor. Just as before there’s a tingle as the amor slides across his skin. 

“Uh, Tony, I don’t think—“ 

“Jarvis, steady him!” The suit lifts up and it feels yet again like his guts are folding and turning over. His suit follows Tony across the room to a set of heavy clear coil rods. 

“We’re gonna install these and Harley is going to start the jump prep.” 

“This is…Tony. Is this an actual FTL drive?” 

“Light speed engine,” Harley snaps over his shoulder on his way to a lit up engineering terminal. 

“Light speed, FTL, there’s been some debate over jargon. It’s the thing that’s going to get us out of here, thank you very much!” 

Harley snorts but gets to work anyway, fingers flying across the keyboard and tapping against the screen when it displays their propulsion levels. 

“If it works,” Tony mutters, “c’mon.” 

Tony grasps the first rod at one end while Rhodey grabs the other. They maneuver, or rather, Rhodey flies with assistance over to the open gap where two wide ports sit for the coil rods to slot into. 

“Easy,” Tony says, adjusting so he’s lowering his end close to the mouth of the port. “They’re filled with palladium. A highly corrosive amount.” 

Rhodey grits his teeth reaffirming his hold on the thing. If it’s as much as he thinks it is, one crack could introduce a lethal amount into the air. Slowly they lower the rod until it slots into place between the FTL drive and the sunlight engine. 

“This is a one shot deal,” Tony tells him as they start the process over with the next one. “Can’t for the life of me get it past one jump. Fries the coils and knocks out power for a good hour when we use it. That’s why it’s for emergency use only.” 

“Jesus, Tony. Are we gonna make it out of this?” Rhodey breathes heavily as they steadily lower the second coil rod into place with Tony adjusting the location. 

“I guarantee it,” Tony tells him confidently. “We just won’t be able to go anywhere immediately. But we’ll be safe.” 

“And where will that be?” 

“I don’t know, far the fuck away from here? Wherever Jarvis plots us next? Why, you got an idea?” 

The rod slots into place and they hover for a moment. 

“I might. What’s next?” 

“We have to rotate them in place to connect them, then we all need to get the hell out of the engine room,” Tony says then turns his attention to Harley.

“Harley, you ready down there?” 

“Got the nav system hooked in, Dad!” 

“Dad?” Rhodey spits incredulously. 

Tony sighs. “We’ll have to each rotate one coil rod counter clockwise simultaneously. Grab the handle on that one, I’ve got this one here.” 

Rhodey is propelled to the other coil rod and grabs a hold of the small handle on the side just above the connector port. 

“And go!” Tony commands and Rhodey feels the thrusters at his feet fire up and push him forward. The coil turns easily in place, though it screeches as it goes. It’s still slow going and he can feel the pressure on his arms while he pushes. His shoulders ache but he doesn’t dare let up. 

The ship shakes again as they go ratcheting up his nerves. There doesn’t appear to be enough to space for the rods to become dislodged but he still holds his breath. He’s on the other side of the room facing the door and Harley when he finishes, sighing in relief when Tony meets him there. 

The rods lock into place simultaneously and there’s a bright blue light that spreads along them. Arc reactor blue, to be precise. 

“You have an arc reactor powering your engine?” 

“You bet your ass I do. Saves us a ton of fuel. This wouldn’t be possible without it! Harley!” 

“Ready! Nav system is just waiting for coordinates.” 

“Jarvis you’ll have to be precise! Can’t drop us anywhere near Alliance territory. We’ll have to lay low for a while,” Tony says.

Rhodey perks up at that. 

“And if I did actually have an idea in mind?” 

Tony’s face plate flips up and he cocks his head to the side blue eyes fixed on him curiously. 

“Got some coordinates for me?” 

Rhodey feels himself being brought to the same terminal Harley’s at. He drops down--much better prepared for it this time-- lightly next to the young man. Harley glares at him with the intensity of a sun as he stands guard over the terminal blocking Rhodey’s way. 

“You drop us into trouble and I’ll take you out myself,” he says as sure as they’re both breathing. 

“Harley!” Tony shouts indignantly.

“I’d never do anything to hurt him,” Rhodey says fiercely. “Never.” 

“I meant it,” Harley huffs, still staring him down but stepping aside anyway. “My whole family is on this ship.” 

Rhodey keys in the coordinates, close enough to his destination but far away enough not to cause them any trouble. He just knows when he’s finished, Carol’s going to smack him, but it’ll be well worth it to see her face when she finds out about him traveling by FTL. 

“It’s in.” 

The ship takes another hit and rattles around them. It seems to be the signal to get the hell out of there as Rhodey’s suit sends him back out into the hall. But it doesn’t stop there. He cranes his neck, trying to look behind him and feeling a fraction of fear at losing sight of Tony again. 

“We’re right behind you, don’t worry,” Tony says soothingly. “The suit’s going to take us to the bridge.”

—

“Pep, the FTL drive is prepped!”

He doesn’t get to see much of the bridge other than glimpse of the chrome and blood red fixtures that seem to feature heavily. The door slides shut once all three of them are clear and the suit comes in for a surprisingly gentle landing on the deck. It locks in immediately with a series of hisses and clicks. He twists in place wildly trying to get eyes on Tony. 

All he gets is an electrifying tingle up his spine and a flash of strawberry blonde strands before a gut wrenching force almost bowls him over. 

—-

“Disengage the suit!” 

Bruce? 

“The main power is failing, Dad! Jarvis is not responding. Let me just—”

“His heart rate is out of control. Get him out!” 

“Rhodey, I’ve got you. Hold on, honey, I’ve got you.” 

Tony?

“Will the secondary backup hold?” A woman’s voice, delicate with bite in her question. 

“Long enough,” comes Tony’s grim response. 

“You better hope it does! Tony, how could you—“ 

“I trust him! That’s enough for me!” 

“He doesn’t even know--” 

“-- mean you didn’t tell him?

The voices are like a loud pounding inside his head. Rhodey grimaces against the noise. 

As it turns out, the bridge is really just a very large panic room in the end. Sealed off in the event of a crash landing as the most secure place on the ship. There’s structural damage elsewhere that he hears someone else yelling about, but he doesn’t quite care as he fights his way back up to being fully conscious and fades out again. 

— ——

He comes to with a wheezing gasp and a sharp pain radiating down his left side where he’s leaned against the bulkhead outside of the suit again. How much time has passed? Did they make it? 

Rhodey blinks against the pounding in his head as things come back into sharp focus. They’re in one piece at least. Sort of. The bridge is in disarray, several consoles that line the wall are sparking and the dim orange emergency lights cast a garish hue to his surroundings. He doesn’t calm until he catches sight of Tony bent over an engineering console. Another pair of legs splay out from beneath it twitching up to fold at the knees then straightening out again as whoever it is works at the problem below. He could help. He should. His arm braces against the wall so he can start the laborious process of rising to his feet. He gets to his knees and sways back as his vision swims before him. 

“Hey, slow down!” A female voice comes from right beside him. He startles then freezes in place, glad to at least have his legs under him as he leans on the wall for support. He looks up into cool pale blue eyes that glance over him like an automated sensor sweep, cataloging his every muscle twitch. She tucks a long strawberry blonde strand of hair behind her ear where it’s fallen out of the bundle she’s pulled back out of her face and nods once she’s looked her fill. 

Over her shoulder Tony keeps sending surreptitious little glances at them, even when a boy with familiar brown hair flopping down over his eyes comes over, pulling a hovering tray of tools behind him. He squats down next to the ominous pair of legs. 

“Yeah,” she says lowly, giving him one last assertive look up and down that pins him further in place. “You look okay.” 

“See that old man? He’s fine,” Harley strides in picking up a tool from the tray and moving on. “Get a move on!” 

“Hey, don’t sass your elders, kid!” Tony cracks just as the ship shudders beneath Rhodey’s feet and orange lights flicker. 

“Moves like an old man, talks like an old man,” Harley mutters as he passes.

Tony’s head pops up again with a scowl on his face. “Sounds like someone’s just aching to clean out the mess in the engine room by hand.” 

“Hey!” The voice that comes from beneath the console is muffled and clearly female. 

Delicate hands wrap around Rhodey’s biceps in a firm grip to help him while he stands, gaze jumping from Harley to Tony then finally resting on the pair of legs that slide out from underneath the solid paneling of the console to reveal dark red hair and an impressive death glare that sends his heart hammering in his chest and his hand reaching for his gun. 

“Am I the only one working down here?” Natasha Romanoff snaps covered in dark stripes of grease and sweat. She glares between the three men who all hold their hands up in mock surrender and for a second it’s like looking at Tony in triplicate when the woman beside him clears her throat pointedly and they all look up. 

Romanoff’s eyes immediately go to his gun but Tony’s eyes lock with Rhodey’s in equal parts worry and alarming guilt. 

“Can someone please explain to me just what the fuck is going on?” Rhodey croaks out. Because there is Natasha Romanoff staring at him like she didn’t just try to kill him a short time ago although looking rather like she’d do so now if given the chance. 

They all seem to look at one another to start then look away except for Romanoff whose gaze stays zeroed in on his gun, like she’s calculating the time it would take for him to pull it against the time it would take for her to defend herself. He didn’t realize when she’d moved only that she had, one hand on her hip and the other wrapped around the ankle of the boy with the tray. 

“None of that now,” the woman beside him rests her own hand on his, noting where he’s reaching and pushes his hand back. He looks at her and her strained smile and frowns. 

“Cap—” Romanoff says through gritted teeth. The woman just shakes her head. 

“I don’t think he wants to hurt anyone. Do you?” she asks, perfectly shaped eyebrow rising as his hand drops. Romanoff eyes him for a moment longer before dropping to her back and sliding back under. “I’m Pepper Potts,” the woman formally introduces herself smoothly as the edge of a finely sharpened blade. “Captain of the Invincible.” 

“James—“ 

“Rhodes,” she finishes with a smirk, turning back to her work manually recalibrating the central navigation computer with ease, unafraid to turn her back on him. Pepper Potts, he’s heard the name before but he can’t recall from where. “He never shuts up about you. In all the years I’ve known him I’ve flipped between being wildly jealous and unsure if you were for real.”

He’s not quite sure what to say to that. Can’t even really focus on it with what appears to be another Natasha Romanoff staring him down no less than 10 feet away. The obvious answer seems so far fetched. Twins? Unlikely. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Rhodey snaps, his patience long gone. The two boys look away from him, suddenly very engrossed in their work. Captain Potts and Tony stare each other down seemingly communicating with their eyes until Tony sharply turns his back to them and returns to his work. It’s on the tip of his tongue to call out the well worn avoidance tactic. The argument is ready made and even after years of them being apart, he’s still able to pull up his own playbook of “How to Get Tony to Do Almost Anything”. Potts glares at Tony’s back and if the force of it could pierce his skin, the other man would be cut to ribbons. 

Rhodey just barely avoids flinching when she turns that glare back on him albeit softer. 

“You’ve heard of the Skrulls, yes?” 

“Have I--? Who hasn’t heard of them? They’ve been at war with the Kree Empire for decades,” Rhodey finds himself glaring right back at her. “They haven’t been seen in Alliance territory since.” 

Even as the words leave his mouth, he doubts them and realizes how ridiculous it sounds. Even in the military there were urban legends of secret shapeshifting spies collecting intel for the mysterious race. As it was, the public didn’t have much to go on and a Skrull could waltz by them on the street and they wouldn’t have the slightest clue of the danger they were in. Pepper doesn’t dignify his comment with a response for which he’s immediately grateful. 

“The Natasha Romanoff aboard the Avenger is one of the only known Skrull operatives we’re aware of,” she tells him matter of factly. “When we picked up Natasha, she was left behind in the wreckage of a ship we were salvaging.” 

“That’s--” 

“What?” Natasha says having pulled herself from beneath the console to stare at him angrily. The emotion is so different from the impassive coldness he’s used to from her that it startles a gasp from him. “Is it so impossible? I was taken from a mission on Vanaheim and woke up in a cell. The first thing I saw was a woman standing on the other side of the bars and not just anyone. Me. And she sounded like me, smiled like me, had a good chunk of my memories, too. And right next to her was my CO. Nick Fury in the flesh.” 

“Oh, God," Rhodey gasps, mind racing. 

“I was forced to spar with her. Day after day until she walked like me, talked like me, and even fought like me.” 

“When we found her she was malnourished and had only a few days of oxygen left on the ship. She kept demanding that we test her blood to be sure she was human. Oh, yes, Mr. Rhodes, this is very real.” 

Rhodey inhales deeply and then repeats. Again and again, chest feeling tighter each time. He curses under his breath. This is the second time in what’s likely to be 24 hours, a weakness he hasn’t allowed himself in some time, not just creeping over him but slamming into him at full force. 

Because, he’d wondered, hadn’t he? It makes sense when he puts this whole ordeal together and thinks back to the first time he saw Fury in years aboard the Warbird, when the other man had been off but the lure of finding out what happened to Tony was so much greater it was easier to ignore. Then again, just how long had Fury been a Skrull? How far back did the deception go? And where was Fury now? 

“Fury, was he on the ship with you?” Rhodey croaks. Natasha’s expression shutters. Guilt seems to claw at her pride, leaving marks behind. She absently plays with the spanner in her hands, running her thumbs along the beveled edges. 

“I don’t know. He wasn’t there when I was rescued. There was...someone though. In the cell next to me. A man, maybe, I’ll never know. They liked to play games. Skrulls can only take your most recent memories when they “sim” into another being. So, they keep the originals just in case. He sounded like Fury. He often tried to talk to me. To get me to escape or just trust him. I couldn’t take that chance. So, they tortured him. Or at least it sounds like that’s what happened.” 

“Couldn’t they have just put you two together? I mean if they were trying to get information out of you?” 

Natasha smiled, brittle but eerily pretty. “I am very adept at picking up on tells. Even a Skrull has a tell when they lie. It’s impossible not to. Spend enough time with anyone and you can pick up on it.” 

“I think that’s just you Aunt Tasha,” the younger boy snorts. 

“Someday that’ll be you, too, little spider,” Romanoff’s teasing look far too alien to him all things considered, so he avoids that soft fondness by averting his gaze, though that’s not much better when he lands on Tony having another intense staring contest with the Captain like he’s not even in the room. 

They go on for a second before surprisingly Harley seems to take pity on him and clears his throat rather obnoxiously. The young man doesn’t meet his eyes when he shrugs at him over their startled expressions. Well, Tony looks startled and Captain Potts looks so perturbed she goes back to yanking wires from her damaged console. 

"Why?" Rhodey wonders aloud more to himself than the others. The Skrulls are supposedly deep in a war with the Kree at the moment. What the hell were they doing in the Alliance and what did that have to do with Tony. Once again he notices Potts glaring in Tony's direction. The other man has put his back to them, focusing on his work even as his shoulders tense and tighten under the scrutiny. 

"Howard was working on something," Pepper tosses out between them angrily, not taking her steely gaze from Tony. "Top secret Alliance project. They've been searching for it since before the massacre." 

"The Asterion?" Rhodey feels a chill go down his spine. That would mean---

"Yeah, it was them. Obadiah Stane was their way in as I'm sure you already suspected. Whether or not he'd been replaced at that point...we don't know. I've met the man and I still have a hard time believing he'd authorize an action with so much collateral damage. Too many eyes, is what he used to say." 

"Collateral damage," Rhodey repeats softly. That's what they were. He'd read it in enough reports but hearing it as fact was something he thought he'd be prepared for. "For Howard." 

"For the Skrull detector he created. Or at least they think he created it. They thought Howard had it aboard the Asterion and I think they planned to take it by force. Except you and Tony were there and you didn't exactly go quietly."

"No we didn't," he says absently. They'd given their all to fight back against who they thought were Ravager crews attacking innocent people. Ravagers who weren't really pirates at all. "They were Skrulls. All of them?" 

"Uh, it's impossible for us to know--" 

He laughs, high and thin, feels more chuckles bubbling up as he shakes his head in disbelief. 

"Listen--" 

"Who were they?" Rhodey snaps, ice climbing through his veins. He was going to be sick. His insides flip and twist like the g force necessary to flip an attack fighter going at top speed. "After all this time do we still not know. It could have been anyone. Hired guns, for all we know." 

For all they knew it could have really been an all Ravager crew hired by the Skrulls to do their bidding. That was just as plausible as anything else. Except...except…

"They weren't trained like Ravagers," Tony says, interrupting his thoughts, capping off his theories and all but confirming his fears. The little horrified voice he'd shut off long ago on his first raid of a Ravager home base. "They were Skrulls." 

He can suddenly feel the cold of the deck beneath him sharply. It reminds him of the cool shots of air from the compressors aboard the few standard Ravager vessels he boarded. Few because they never went down without a fight and rarely allowed the insult of a boarding party in favor of being shot down in battle. Unscrupulous and strangely noble all the same. How many had he--

The ship shudders then hums to life. The lights turn back to their usual hue and Tony whoops while he checks over his work with a broad smile.

“Main Power restored,” Jarvis says primly. Rhodey still winces at the voice looking around for the source but finding no one but the six of them present. 

“Welcome back J,” the boy with the tray crows. 

“I’m very glad to be back, Master Peter,” Jarvis answers. It’s coming from the intercom system. Someone somewhere else in the ship? 

“J, it’s good to hear your voice,” Pepper says softly then orders “Please run a full diagnostic. I want a sit rep as soon as you can. I’d love to believe we’re out of the woods as the next person but I’d rather be sure before we stand down for full repairs.” 

“Yes, Ma’am,”Jarvis answers from wherever he is aboard the ship and sounding very pleased to do as asked. That makes 8 of them on board including himself, Tony, and Bruce that he knows of. “I am detecting a new passenger aboard the ship. Shall I add him as an authorized user?”

Rhodey looks to Tony but he and everyone else looks to the Captain automatically. For all that he’s glad he’s found him he’s only been on this ship for what feels like minutes. He’s acutely aware that he’s the outsider here. Again. Still, he doesn’t doubt that Tony would never let anything happen to him. He knows that like he knows the basic parts to creating a plasma fuel injector. He still eyes Captain Potts with suspicion. 

“Not just yet, Jarvis. Guest access for now.” 

“Very well ma’am,” Jarvis responds then goes quiet. As does everyone else except for Natasha who curses quietly from under the panel as she appears to rip something out of the housing. 

“Tony,” Pepper says his name achingly soft. Rhodey’s insides twist painfully as Tony looks up at her from his place at the console, not actually typing anything but still playing at working on the console, with an open expression of what Rhodey could only describe as wonderment. It makes him feel like he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be. 

They share a silent look that Rhodey can’t decipher but at the end of things Pepper smiles and turns back to her work without a word and Tony looks away quickly, face heating more red than orange as far as Rhodey can tell. He looks much like that gangly kid that first approached him in a crowded classroom nervously shifting his gaze. Except back then Tony actually braved the words that started a lifelong friendship. 

Now, he just turns with a sharp jerk of his head, in the face of Captain Pott’s disappointment and Rhodey’s own horror, back to his work. Maybe once Rhodey would have pushed. Maybe he would have placed himself between Tony and the console and forced his gaze up to meet his own. Maybe he would have wrapped his arms around him content to hold on until Tony was ready, just content to let him know he was there. 

Instead Rhodey shoves himself up and when finally fully upright and steady, he runs. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! We made it to the end! Major thanks to PinkGold for cheer reading and betaing for me and JARVISUDUMETOO for their amazing art!!! And thank you to everyone who took the time to read this! Thanks for hanging in there with me.

He is lost. 

When he’d left the bridge, it was with the intent to at first just get away from the several pairs of eyes of Tony’s new family weighing on him in pity. Secondly, he needed to find the only other friendly face he knew on board. And so after he left the bridge, he tried to back track down the way they’d come. 

Trouble was everything looked much different with debris littering the floor and some areas still without power leaving darkened or flickering overhead lights. The darkened sections were much preferred to the others as each time he passed through the shuttering areas his eyes burned and his head pounded. All the more reason to find Bruce. He likely had a concussion but with the serum he’s sure to recover quickly if he rests. If he can find quarters that is. Or Bruce. Whichever comes first.

That was hours ago if his internal clock could be believed. 

Now he just stares back down the corridor he just came down trying to convince himself he wasn’t going in circles. He’s sure he just passed the engine room but hesitates going back to check. His legs are trembling and he quite frankly feels more than a little bit dizzy. More than once he’s blinked back the image of things spinning around him. It’s luck that there’s no one around to see him lean heavily against the adjacent wall. They already see him as some kind of threat. He's not sure he can take Tony seeing just how pitiful he’s become. 

“Captain Rhodes?” 

Rhodey’s head snaps up causing the room to spin even more to stare at the ceiling with a scowl on his face. He’s beyond done with being taunted with ghosts from his past. 

“Who the hell are you?” He barks angrily up at the intercom. 

There’s silence for but a moment before Jarvis responds. 

“I am Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. J.A.R.V.I.S, as Sir and the others have taken to calling me over the years,” comes the very prim answer. Rhodey furrows his brow and lets his head drop when his neck starts aching. Everything swims before him and he puts more of his weight on the wall trying to stay upright. 

“Y-you’re an AI?” He breathes, awed. “He really did it?” 

“Sir was quite lonely,” Jarvis admits, hitting him square in the chest as his imagination runs wild. He still doesn’t know where Tony’s been all this time. What happened to him after he...after the Asterion. Knowing he was lonely seems just as worse as anything he’s ever imagined might have happened to him. Tony for all his lab induced, workaholic, anti-social tendencies was actually rather extroverted for the most part. Oh sure, he prefered to keep to people he knew over time, and was nowhere near the diplomatic prodigy his mother was, even though he thrived on social contact. To think of him alone anywhere was horrifying in and of itself. 

“How long was he--when did he and the Captain--uh--” 

“Become companions?” Jarvis asks. Rhodey clenches down on his grimace, gritting his teeth and bobbing his head up and down in a nod. “Since before Sir created me. I am not sure I should elaborate.” 

Right. That would be an invasion of privacy. And Rhodey was not authorized to know. 

“Your heart rate appears to be elevated and your blood pressure--” 

“I’m fine,” Rhodey grunts, pushing forward slowly, never quite leaving the safety of the wall as he goes. 

“Shall I call Sir?” 

“Assuming you mean Tony?” 

“Yes.” 

Would he even come? Rhodey wonders bitterly then shakes himself of the notion. No matter what Tony feels for him he’d come. He just proved that by rescuing him and sacrificing his ship and the safety of his family in the process. He ought to be more grateful. He was lucky enough that Tony turned up alive and whole with a whole crew watching his back in comparison to his worst nightmares. Warmth blooms in his chest. Contrary to said nightmares, Tony seems actually well cared for. 

“I’d prefer you didn’t, if that’s all the same to you,” Rhodey says. 

“Doctor Banner, then? Or I could notify the Capt-” 

“Bruce!” Rhodey grunts. “Please call Bruce.” 

“At once,” Jarvis says, seemingly pleased. Of course, Tony’s AI son would want to keep his de facto parents clear of his mess. 

“J-Jarvis?” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Could you direct me to a set of quarters, please? I think I need to lie down.” 

“I’m sure the medbay would be better equipped--” 

“No, nope. I’m not making a bigger deal about this than it is,” Rhodey says. 

“There are quarters available on the main deck, closer to the rest of the crew,” Jarvis announces. 

He huffs. Just what he needs. “Anything on this level?” 

“I have just the thing,” Jarvis answers him after a moment’s consideration. 

\----

“Just the thing” is a small room on the same deck as engineering but much further down and around the corner. It’s attached to what looks like a darkened workspace that seems to have been thrown into disarray with overturned tables and metal works strewn across the floor. A quick peek through the tempered glass shows a pair of large arms frozen in place as they stretch from the ceiling as if stopped mid motion while reaching for one another. 

He makes it next door without little fanfare and slides into the windowless and mostly undamaged room with relative ease. There’s not much inside. Just a bunk, spacious compared to military issue, a desk, and a bathroom off to the side. He passes a mirror by the door on his way to the bed and quickly averts his eyes. He doesn’t need to look to know how drawn his appearance is. 

Rhodey drops, leaden, to the bed with a heavy thunk of his boots on the floor. Doesn't even kick his boots off, just lies back on surprisingly soft blankets and lets out a groan of relief. 

The world is still spinning slowly like the swirl of liquid running down the drain. It's there, resting on his back, that he runs a hand down his face, eyes slipping closed, that he begins a brief inspection of his extremities. He wiggles fingers down his neck, finding nothing of note and across his collarbones is much the same, his other hand skims across his belly for bruises right up to his chest where he runs across hard metal casing. 

He blinks, slams his eyes shut then wishes he hadn't for the nausea it brings, and ends up tracing along the fine lines of the arc reactor attached to his shirt. So very much like the one Tony had inside his chest for so many years keeping him alive. He remembers the near quiet thrum he used to feel beneath his fingertips and the brilliant glow that would greet him. 

Absently he brings a hand up and thumbs along the transmitter as if to reassure himself it was still there. 

\----

Sometime later he jerks awake to the sound of soft humming. It's not the most soothing melody but it is to him. He recognizes it instantly as one of Tony's old world rock songs though the voice is off, deeper and more worn. He rides the line between sleepy memories and the here and now as the energetic second verse kicks in. 

"It's animal living in a human zoo...animal...the shit that they toss at you.."

It's Tony’s voice through the transmitter all right. Rough voice and all he'd recognize anywhere. Tony must have clicked the transmitter sometime in the night and Rhodey probably automatically did the same when his own chimed in his sleep. 

How many times had they done exactly that when away from each other? Even if they just needed to silently check in or just listen to the sound and count each slow and steady breath before sleeping. He's long lost count of the nights they talked to each other to sleep only to wake up the next day with a pleasant greeting in their ears. 

"Tones?" He croaks pulling himself up to sit. He no longer feels as shaky as before. The serum in his blood has done its job and with the minimum amount of sleep achieved he feels functional even though he's still exhausted and heart sore. 

Over the line Tony's singing stops and his breath stutters. Rhodey can envision the hesitation playing all over his face and wonders errantly if they'll wake Captain Potts with their conversation. 

“I-I’m here,” Tony clears his throat to say. “Are you okay? I--uh--checked in on you a few hours ago. I hope you don’t mind?” 

“Mind?” Rhodey frowns. “I wish I’d been awake although I don’t think anything short of an explosion could have got me up. For guest quarters this bed is amazing.”

Tony chuckles, rich and warm in his ear sending a shiver down his spine and leaving him stuck still at the effect Tony still has on him. That simple camaraderie that spilled so quickly into love when they were just kids is surprisingly easy to pick back up. 

“Oh, is it now? Seriously, you’re okay? I wasn’t sure how the old serum would hold up this long aft--” he seems to catch himself before he finishes the word but it still hangs there in an invisible space between them. 

“I’m still breathing and you’re alive. This is more than I could have ever asked for,” Rhodey tells him, leaving off the fact that it’s more than he deserved. Still, he swipes his fingers across his forearm to get a quick look at his vitals and then again to close it once he’s seen them. “I’ve had much worse.” 

“You know I don’t think that’s ever made me feel better,” Tony snarks. 

“I’m sorry,” Rhodey says, voice thick with so much genuine remorse. And he is sorry. For all the ways he’d failed him. All the time they’ve lost. 

“You don’t need--” 

“I just stood there,” he plows on unwilling to shirk any part of what he’s done. “While they just opened those doors and waited for you to be pulled out. I could have fought harder. I should have fought harder!” 

“It’s okay. It’s--” 

“How is that okay? Jarvis died for me to save you and I couldn’t even do that. And God knows what’s happened to you since. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through!”

"Listen to me!" Tony shouts, stunning him into silence. "What happened to us happened! But it wasn't your fault. Or mine or anyone’s but the Skrull spies sent to retrieve Howard's device." 

"But-"

"Trust me," Tony says then snorts. "I had a lot of time to think about it. Years actually." 

God, years?! 

"What happened?" Rhodey is as hesitant as he is curious about their time apart. 

"I--" Tony starts then drops off in thought. There's a tight feeling emerging in Rhodey's chest that intensifies with each passing second. He opens his mouth to voice his concern and Tony beats him to it. Always racing ahead of him, "I don't really talk about that."

"Oh." 

"With anyone. It's not just you," Tony was quick to say, clearly aware of how quickly Rhodey's thoughts would run wild. "I'm sorry. That can't be what you want to hear right now." 

Rhodey chuckles deep and rich even in his disappointment. 

"Honey, I'm just happy to hear your voice right now. I missed you so much. I wouldn't care if you were screaming at me," he says earnestly. "I wouldn't even care if you recited Shar's propulsion theory to me word for word." 

"Jesus, Rhodey, I wouldn't torture you like that," Tony laughs loudly. "That was cruel and unusual punishment the first time around. Besides it would hurt me more than you." 

"The only bound book they made us read and it just had to be over 700 pages long. And there you were just mad as hell that you had to make room in your bag by taking out some of your tools." 

"They were simply more important than Shar's bloated ruminations... Shit!" 

Something clanks on Tony's end as he hisses out another curse. 

"Are you alright?" 

"Yeah just, got distracted. If you don't watch it these phase converters will get stripped easily." 

"I thought the ship basically heals itself," Rhodey asks. 

"Hull breaches, emergency power, and life support protocols or minor repairs. Everything else takes too much power. So Jarvis monitors our surroundings with sensor readings to keep us apprised of what's going on. If we're ever down, it's usually in a very unfriendly place. If our stealth capabilities are out, then it's just as important as getting the engine back in tip top shape." 

"I'd say so. That's what you're working on now? Have you slept?" 

"Oh no, not you, too!" 

"Uh, Tones. Me always," he gently reminds him. 

"Well with the emergence of those little grays at your temples I'd hoped you might have forgotten." 

"About you? Never," Rhodey says solemnly. Tony's breath hitches in his ear and Rhodey can almost certainly hear him swallowing whatever snarky remark he'd been about to say. He feels like kicking himself for ruining what felt like his first bit of normal in years. 

"Hey listen--" 

"I shouldn't have--" 

"No, I just need to focus. One of the trade offs of me staying up so late to work is to get all of our systems back online as soon as possible. Kind of defeats the purpose if I'm chatting all night instead of working." 

"I could help," Rhodey says. He's already reaching for his satchel where his own set of precision tools he's been hoarding over the years rests. 

"Whoah, you have a concussion!" Tony admonishes like he has a leg to stand on there. 

"Well between the serum and sheer stubbornness I haven't died yet. I'm sure I can handle it." 

"I--wh--that's not even--" 

"What needs doing?" Rhodey asks fishing out his roll of tools. "Look, I can't sleep another minute and I can help. Just let me, Tones?" 

"I--ok?" 

"Where should I go first?" 

Tony hums thoughtfully. 

"J.A.R.V.I.S, give Rhodey authorized user access. Override 3496XB. And please direct him to my location." 

\------

The work is simple. Tony shows him how he's been switching out the burnt out converters for new ones while modding them along the way to work more efficiently with the robust engines. Tony makes wide sweeping gestures as he explains, pointing out the far too easily stripped parts of the new converters with disdain. 

He's covered in more grease than when Rhodey last saw him but his eyes are bright with excitement of his tirade about coupling the stealth tech to an independent power source to avoid having both go down at the same time. Rhodey is struck stupid for a moment with a foolish little smile curving his lips and the urge to wrap his arms around Tony and hold him close coiling tightly in his belly. 

He used to drag the engineer into his lap when they were young and with his chin hooked over Tony's shoulder watch those nimble fingers work. 

Tony catches him staring before Rhodey can shake himself out of it and Rhodey's treated to a faint blush forming over his cheeks. 

The burnt out converters can still be melted back down to metal bits and repurposed on the ship. It’s kind of amazing seeing so many things Tony used to talk about in theory being put to good use. No one had wanted to hear him when he proposed these types of changes over a decade ago considering it too costly for even the larger ships to retrofit them with the type of highly mechanized forge capable of breaking down larger pieces of debris. 

Rhodey snorts at the idea of them seeing Tony now. Of seeing them both. What would their naysayers have to say about Tony Stark building his own ship from scratch to fight against enemy infiltrators, and Captain James Rhodes, who became a bounty hunter bordering on criminal? He breaks out into a full belly laugh and doesn’t even flinch when he feels smooth fingers wrap around his ankle and bodily pull him out from under the console he’s been working under. 

Electric blue eyes stare down at him curiously and Tony simply raises his eyebrows in question adorably tilting his head to the side. 

“What? Can’t a guy amuse himself every once in a while?” 

Tony blinks down at him, color receding to honey brown as he does so. He finds he doesn’t like the sadness he sees reflected there. Something strangely like guilt lurks around the edges as moisture pools in the corners. 

“Whoa, hey, Tony.” 

“I can’t believe I forgot--” He says, then cuts himself off and sits back on his haunches looking dismayed. Rhodey follows him up, arms braced on his bent knees itching to reach forward and offer any comfort he can. He’s busy running through all of the ways he remembers how to make Tony smile again that he almost misses the sob that tumbles forth but most definitely catches the appearance of tears sliding down his face. Tears that Tony is quick to wipe away and blink rapidly as a measure of defense against the rest. He furiously scrubs as his face smearing grease across his cheeks along the way. “I forgot.” He says again, resolutely and just a tad resigned to whatever fate he’s thinking of. 

“Forgot what?” Rhodey asks, sliding closer only to have Tony shoot up to his feet in place and stumble away. “Tony!” 

“I forgot to uh...do something for Pep. Uh, Captain Potts, I mean. God it’s got to be late...er early? Jarvis, the time please?” 

Jarvis doesn’t respond immediately and something about it feels pointed like he’s not pleased at the moment but that doesn’t seem right. Then again if anyone could create an AI with capability to emote like Jarvis seems to be doing it would be Tony. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S!” Tony barks like an angry parent disappointed in his child. 

“It’s currently 7:56 a.m. NET, Sir.” 

“Thank you, that'll be all, Jarvis. I have somewhere I was supposed to be. Another section to work on. Pep-Cap--I need to finish getting the communications array back in action if we’re gonna reach your friends before poking our heads out of here and I am way behind schedule.” 

“Actually, Sir, you’re several hours ahe-” 

“Mute!” Tony snaps peevishly towards the ceiling and they hear Jarvis no more. “I’m sorry, I really have to get to this. Don’t worry about my work I’ll circle back to it and I know you’re almost done over there. You’re probably hungry, everyone should be heading down for breakfast soon.” 

“Do you want some help?” 

“No!” Tony practically shouts then inhales deeply and slowly to calm himself. He’s already backing towards the door, careful to glance over his shoulder to check for debris as he goes. “Sorry, I just mean, you should head to breakfast and I’ll meet you there eventually. I mean soon! Soon! Like within the hour?”

He doesn’t wait for a response and sweat seems to have formed along his neck, affecting a sheen under the lights. Rhodey is halfway to his feet, good mood evaporating completely once Tony’s slipping into the hall and the door slides shut behind him leaving him alone. 

“What the hell?” Rhodey asks no one in particular since Jarvis apparently can’t speak now. He wonders if that’s throughout the ship. He tips his head back and blows out a frustrated breath. He’s not expecting anything from his former fiancee. It’s been too long and clearly he’s moved on if all of his frantic fluttering can be believed. He gets like that not only when he’s nervous but when he’s trying to keep his distance. Usually when under the intense unblinking glare of his mother when he knew the jig was up and she’d cottoned on about something. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Rhodey asks hesitantly. Of course there’s no response. J.A.R.V.I.S. was loyal to his creator and Rhodey was someone completely new without the authority to override him. He frowns then. A flustered Tony was often a forgetful Tony in the moment. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S. unmute,” Rhodey says with a shrug not expecting much but ever hopeful.

“Yes. Captain Rhodes? How may I be of assistance?” The now very smug sounding AI responds causing Rhodey to jerk in place in surprise. 

“You can’t tell me things Tony wants to keep secret, right?” 

“Correct, there are several incidents in Sir’s history that he has forbidden for me to disclose.” 

“Can you tell me if what just happened pertains to those secrets?” Rhodey asks hopefully. 

“I cannot,” Jarvis dashes his hopes perfunctorily. Rhodey’s shoulders drop in defeat. Of course Tony would have thought about that. 

“Can you--” Rhodey blows out a frustrated breath. “Are you able to tell me if he’s actually heading anywhere near the communications array?” 

“He is not.” 

Right. Of course. It was just Rhodey himself that he wanted to get away from. Heat blooms beneath his cheeks and takes off wildly running down his back. He’s let his damn wishful thinking get away from him again, though he can’t think of what exactly set Tony off. Something about him did. He forgot...what exactly, if not about work around the ship? He wants to go ask, itches to demand J.A.R.V.I.S. to show him the way and get to the bottom of this. It was a surefire way to pick a fight, pushing Tony had always been a gamble with a 50% success rate. He opens his mouth to ask then halts in place. 

He’s the reason Tony ran in the first place. Does he even have the right to know? To demand anything of the person he’d failed so thoroughly? Especially when Tony had risked his family to come rescue him. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S.? Do you think you can direct me through the rest of what needs to be done here?” Rhodey asks, already turning back to the console. 

“Certainly, Captain.” 

\-----

He’s hauling trashed equipment down what he’s discovered as Corridor F some hours later when he hears a cough that makes him jump a good foot in the air. Not that he’d ever admit it to anyone. J.A.R.V.I.S. probably saw considering he appears to monitor the entire ship at any given moment. Then, of course, there’s the young man who managed to sneak up on him. 

Tufts of dirty blonde hair stick up in patches all over his head, darkening at the roots and lightening towards the ends. Harley juts his chin out, displaying a twist of his lips into something that somehow resembles both a smug grin and a grimace. In his hands he holds a small covered tray. He looks almost bored as he leans against the wall a little more than 5 feet away. How he managed to sneak up on Rhodey isn’t a mystery to the older man. His mind hasn’t been keenly aware of his surroundings for quite some time now. 

“You know, we have bots on the ship that could do that,” Harley definitely has a bored affect to his voice. Like he can barely stand to be here at all. It doesn’t match up with the avid way his eyes follow Rhodey’s every move as he just moves onto the next piece of debris, a heavy lighting fixture that had been knocked loose from the ceiling when they jumped during their escape. It’s a wonder the whole ship hadn’t shaken apart. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S. told me as much.” 

Rhodey grabs the end of the fixture and starts to yank it up and out of the dent it’s made in the floor. The A.I. had been concerned when Rhodey started hauling debris and even more perplexed when he followed up by creating piles of things that were too damaged to be salvaged, and and another for equipment that might still be repurposed just by going off of his own engineering background. It was menial, something a lot of officers of his former rank would scoff at, but he liked to lose himself in the simple work sometimes. Kept his mind occupied and off of dangerous things. 

“So why are you doing it? It’s a waste of time,” Harley wants to know. Rhodey grunts as he lifts the heavy fixture up, turns it, then braces the end he has a hold of against the wall to inspect it all the way around. He crouches and runs his fingertips along the blackened metal, it’s still intact, not so much weakened as it was damaged by the energy surge that took the ship out when they jumped. Tony will want to work on upping the intake if they ever hope to bring the secondary engines online permanently. 

“Depends on what you think is a waste of time,” Rhodey tells him. He eyes the tray in his hands speculatively. Almost as if on cue his stomach growls as if to remind him he needs sustenance. Not as often as he used to but still more than the average civilian. “So you drew the short straw, huh?” 

Harley snorts. “Well it’s well past dinner so the others started to get worried. Bruce and the Captain are talking to Dad about our next steps. Nat thought you probably wouldn’t take anything from her and Peter might just drive you up the wall. I love the kid but he’s full of questions--” 

“Kid? How old are you?” 

Harley just scowls at him thrusting the tray forward. “So, that just leaves me. You’re welcome.” 

“Thanks,” Rhodey takes the tray with a small smile and pops the lid open. He’s not surprised to find simple algae rations. Different from what they have aboard the Warbird, the Invincible clearly stocks more solid food rations than he’s used to. The bar inside is much closer to a thick gel than anything else. He sets the small tray aside and unwraps the packaging, tips his head back, and swallows down the nutrients in one go. Most of the time he’d have to try and add something to it, give himself something to taste at least, but the algae already has that mixed in. Some kind of salt mixture that tingles pleasantly on his tongue. 

“The replicators in the mess are still out of commission so we’re on rations until J.A.R.V.I.S. or Dad can get to them.” 

“I see,” Rhodey says, dropping the package back in the tray and closing the lid. He’ll deposit it in the next garbage chute he comes across on the way. “Maybe I’ll head there next.” 

“Why?” 

“You ask a lot of questions, kid,” Rhodey snarks. Harley’s face screws up and his chest puffs out indignantly reminding him so much of Tony when he was that age he can’t help but grin at the young man. “One less thing for J.A.R.V.I.S. or Tony to worry about, right?” 

Harley raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Maybe I’ll come with you then,” he says then sniffs haughtily. “Make sure you know what you’re doing.” 

The older man just lifts his shoulder in a casual shrug, silently amused but seeing where Harley is going with all this. 

“Suit yourself.” 

They both work quickly to set aside the items Rhodey had cataloged to keep the corridor clear. It’s a short walk there as he ends up following behind Harley who clearly knows the ship like the back of his hand. The mess hall is in a right state when they arrive but it’s clear of anyone else’s presence but their own. When they enter, Harley eyes him suspiciously as he immediately starts clearing debris away to get at the replicator consoles. Thankfully, the tables and benches are all bolted down, though upon closer inspection, he notices they’re actually a part of the flooring. They appear to sprout from the floor like plants emerging from soil. 

“So,” Rhodey asks, taking in the tension in the kid’s shoulders and the clench of his fists hanging by his sides. “What’s next?” 

“What?” Harley forwns. 

“Well, I assume you’re right under Tony as an engineer on this esteemed vessel,” Rhodey says, drawing upon those long out of use officer classes. Replicators were an essential system he knew backwards and forwards. So he knows he can figure out the trouble and fix these easily. Harley on the other hand, had been giving him the stink eye since they met and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. He was worried Rhodey was here to take Tony away. To screw with this family he’d made here on this ship. Rhodey was someone, a situation rather, that was wildly out of his control and if it made the kid feel better to gain some measure of that, who was Rhodey to object? “I don’t want to make a mess of things. So, where should we start, sir?” 

Harley’s face colors and he ducks his head in a poor attempt to hide it. Rhodey is polite enough to not outwardly show his amusement but internally smirks at the way the kid blinks several times before responding. 

Harley clears his throat and nods firmly towards the nearest console. 

“You’ll need a set of precision tools,” He says finally. “I don’t have a spare set so…” 

“No worries,” Rhodey pats his hip, heading over to the indicated console and dropping down to a squat to inspect the damage of the first set of replicators. There are five in total. So clearly some of them are meant for different things to ease the strain of power on just one or two. The one he’s in front of is specific for beverages. 

“The Regs are fried,” Rhodey points out helpfully. 

“Right, the conduit wasn’t modified for that strong of a surge,” Harley says immediately coming over to squat down beside him. “The Regs will have to be replaced with what we have for now but eventually will need updating before we try to jump again. That’s why Dad’s been so tetchy about using it. We have about half the ship converted so things like the infirmary and living quarters are safe but everywhere else requires hours of little adjustments.” 

“So we’ll have to do it by hand like we’ve been doing in the engine room.” 

“Normally, J would handle it. He already handled updating these in the half of the ship that was already prepped but he’s been occupied ever since--” 

He halts mid sentence and clears his throat eyes pointedly drifting to Rhodey’s. He stares at the older man intently, not nearly as hostile as he has been but still intensely cataloging his every microexpression. 

“Since?” Rhodey prompts feeling like he already knows the answer. 

“Ever since we caught word Fury was looking for you,” Harley says softly. “He dedicated J to trying to keep tabs on you. I’ve never really seen him like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Frantic,” Harley says. “I--listen. Dad, for as long as he’s been Dad to me, never loses his cool. He’s got himself locked pretty tight about things that scare him. Sometimes little bits of it bleed through, when I’m in over my head or if Peter’s off doing something stupid, or when Nat or the Captain take unnecessary risks to keep the rest of us safe. But when he found out Fury was looking for you...I’ve just never seen him like that before. Like the bottom was dropping out of his world.” 

Rhodey can’t quite believe it. Wouldn’t even entertain it, if Harley weren’t looking at him like he’d gone and lost something very precious to him. It clicks together easily for him then. 

“He’s not going to leave,” Rhodey says bluntly and by the sharp intake of breath from the younger man, he knows he’s hit his target. He stares back at him unflinchingly. “That man loves you, all of you, I knew that from the first second I saw you all together. He loves you so much.” 

“There’s different types of love,” Harley starts before Rhodey interrupts him. 

“Not like how he loves you and Peter. You might know him better than I do now but I think we both know he’d rather die than see harm come to you guys.” 

“But then why?” 

Instinctively his mind goes to the impulsive boy he grew up with and knows that Tony probably wanted to go off and find him on his own. That worry was more than likely him realizing that he couldn’t do that anymore. That he had people depending on him. He’s sure it wasn’t as serious as Harley remembers but likely just as scary to watch this person he grew to admire lose it over someone Harley had never met. 

“I don’t know,” Rhodey counters. “I think if you asked him he’d tell you though.” 

Harley blows out a disbelieving breath and pokes at the console. 

“Yeah, right. It’s pulling teeth just getting him to tell us little stuff,” Harley says. “I guess we should start getting out all the damaged bits and figuring out what we have on hand and what J needs to fabricate, huh?” 

“You’re the boss,” Rhodey tells him, grateful for the change in subject. 

They begin working side by side and the relief settles over them quickly as a system starts to fall in place. Harley doesn’t just know the ship he calls home, he likes knowing why things work the way they do,and improvises on the fly with J.A.R.V.I.S. supervising and giving his input. Rhodey watches the tension bleed from his shoulders as they create pile after pile of charred equipment and workable parts until the first console then the second and the third are gutted and put back together with a bin of parts they have on hand. 

He’s covered in even more grime and sweat than earlier, making his shirt not just stick to his skin but itch in places. He knows he smells a bit and so does Harley but they both ignore it in favor of moving on to the fourth replicator. 

They keep going, muttering between themselves about this piece or that, passing equipment between them seamlessly after the first couple hours go by. The kid is smart, quick on the uptake, innovating on the fly like a certain person they both know. It’s not long before Rhodey feels pride when he glances over at Harley, who is hunched over their bin of parts grumbling like the grease gremlin he so clearly emulates. 

It’s not so peaceful, however, that Rhodey doesn’t notice the figures that emerge out of the corner of his eye. Tony stumbles through the open door making Rhodey look up from cleaning his hands on a rag with wide eyes. Captain Potts and Bruce stand just outside of the door with their arms crossed and suddenly it’s not clear whether or not Tony actually stumbled or if he’d been shoved into the mess hall by either or both of them. 

Tony sends a glare over his shoulder at the other two, annoyance clear on his handsome features, that clears up his question immediately. Rhodey looks over at the other two curiously wondering just what they’re up to. Perhaps this is it, Tony’s going to explain that he’s moved on from his past. That he’s got his family here and there’s not really any room for him. Maybe he’s here to tell him that it’s time to reach out to the Warbird for pick up. His insides twist unhelpfully as he tries to school his features into something with less emotion than he’s feeling before Tony turns back to him. 

Meanwhile Harley is still fiddling with the bin, wholy unconcerned about the situation behind him until Tony clears his throat loudly, making him drop the part he was holding back into the bin with a loud clatter and turn around. 

“Uh, Harley do you think you could give us a minute?” Tony asks him. Harley glances between Rhodey and Tony quickly though not fast enough to keep Rhodey from catching a glimpse of panic in his eyes. 

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something while he has their undivided attention but Captain Potts beats him to it. 

“I do believe you promised me you’d check over those sensor sweeps before turning in tonight. Want to make sure the margin for error is as low as possible before we try and poke our heads out of our little safe haven, right?” 

“Right,” Harley says brightly with a sour little expression on his face belying just what he thinks about that. 

“I’ll check in with you later,” is all Rhodey can think to say to reassure him. 

“Don’t mess up all of our hard work,” Harley grimaces even as he says it with the appropriate amount of teenaged snark. Rhodey just smiles evenly as Harley passes him by, stepping around Tony to get to Captain Potts, who drapes an arm around his shoulders and leads him off with Bruce at their side. That just leaves him and Tony. With unease curdling his insides, Rhodey thinks it’s ironic that he’s spent literal years dreaming of such a thing and now he kind of wishes for anyone else to come along and stave off the inevitable. 

Tony shifts from one foot to the other as if unsure of where or how he should stand. 

“So, you got any of those working?” Tony asks. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“I think we’d do well with some scotch for this, don’t you?” 

“God, yes.” 

\----

They’re sat across from each other at a nearby table with two glasses filled with amber liqour between them and several minutes of silence stretching out behind them. He wants to believe Tony’s just savoring the time they have left like he is, but squashes that immediately. Tony looks like he’s working himself up to something. He turns the glass in his hands, twisting it back and forth on the tabletop between his thumb and trigger finger in precise movements while he leans on his elbows. His other hand comes up to tap a staccato rhythm against his chest. He’s dressed the same as earlier and clearly hasn’t cleaned up since with patches of grease still smeared across his skin. 

Maybe he’d run off to do more work like he said or hadn’t actually done any of that and gone off to do who knew what. Obviously spent time with the Captain and Bruce as Harley had stated, and their presence after proven it. He must have really set Tony off earlier if that was the case. 

Guilt gnaws at him. Tony clearly fought hard to get him out of the situation Rhodey had climbed into. He hadn’t even thanked him yet. Just stupidly chased ghosts of their past like he had any right to Tony as the man he was now. Time hadn’t stood still for Rhodey since they’d been separated so why should he act like it had for Tony when that couldn’t obviously be any less true. 

“So--” Tony starts. 

“I can leave,” Rhodey rushes to say then internally curses. 

“What?” Tony asks wide eyed and hurt. “I don’t understand.” 

“I--well--you’ve gone through a lot of trouble for me, Tony. I can’t even begin to say how grateful I am to you and your crew, your family, for coming for me when you didn’t have to--” 

“Didn’t have to?” 

“--and I know you took a huge risk in doing so--” 

“James!” 

“--and I don’t want to cause any trouble--” 

“RHODEY!” Tony shouts, finally stopping his ramble. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“I know you’ve moved on,” Rhodey puts it bluntly. “I, God, I’m so proud of where you are, even if I don’t know how you got here. It really does put me at ease just knowing you’re alive and well and happy with people around you who truly seem to cherish you. Even if I can’t be a part of it.” 

Tony wets his lips and shakes his head as if to clear away the cobwebs. His hands inch across the table towards Rhodey’s until they’re close enough to wrap around his wrists and squeeze gently. 

“Why can’t you?” 

Rhodey raises his eyebrows. Does he want him to spell it out for him so he’s sure he understands? His gaze drifts down to where Tony’s hands are nearly wrapped around his, thumbs running lightly along the inside of his wrist drawing his attention to the point of contact. 

“You and the Captain,” Rhodey spits out, unable to avoid a measure of displeasure at the pairing. He’s happy for him, truly. Still, he’ll never stop wishing that things might be different. He drags his eyes back up to meet what he’s sure will be relieved honey brown eyes but is shocked to find the color drained from Tony’s handsome face. It’s even more concerning when Tony chuckles softly and starts blinking rapidly against slowly forming tears. He’s successful at keeping them at bay as his chuckling evolves into gasping laughter. Rhodey goes to pull his hands back, but Tony’s grip is firm even as his body shakes with belly aching guffaws that make Rhodey want to sniff the air by his lips and see if he’s already drunk. Because just what in the hell is going on here? 

Tony eventually does withdraw his hands looking hesitant as he does so. It’s difficult to tell for sure as he’s soon swiping at the tears making their way down his face. 

“Oh, man. Of all the things I thought--worried about. Of all the things! That’s what you thought?” 

Now Rhodey is confused and just a touch indignant. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.” 

“Oh, wow, don’t tell Nat,” Tony says, still rubbing his cheeks that are now ruddy from his tears. He grips the glass again, loose in a way he hasn’t looked since that morning and brings the glass up to his lips. 

“I don’t get it,” Rhodey feels like he’s overlooked something and isn’t on even ground anymore. He’d been so sure of what he saw. 

“Whatever you saw,” Tony says. “I’m pretty sure Natasha would skin me alive if she thought I were in any way interested in Pepper. She’s pretty possessive. Scratch that, she is possessive. There’s a reason she usually accompanies her to any meetings as of late. Doesn’t feel like I do a good enough job protecting her.” 

“Natasha...and Captain Potts,” Rhodey says slowly, still unsure, as if he’s worried Tony will pop off with a joke to dismiss the notion entirely. 

“Yep,” Tony confirms succinctly as if it’s a fact of the fucking universe. He tips his head back and sips from his glass, tongue darting out to catch the errant liquid on his lips. Rhodey swallows thickly feeling unbalanced in the aftermath. Has he gotten it all wrong. 

“So, you’re not asking me to leave?” Rhodey wants to know, hope eeking it’s way past doubt in his mind. 

“I just got you back,” Tony murmurs, taking his turn to look ill at ease. He shoots a curious glance at him. “I’ve been hoping you would stay.” 

“As long as you’ll have me,” Rhodey’s quick to answer. Tony spares him a grim little smile that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. By the time Tony tosses back the rest of his drink he’s worried all over again. 

“I’m not sure you’ll really want to once you know,” Tony tells him around a hiss as he gently drops the glass back down onto the table. “I can’t let you make that decision when you don’t know what I did.” 

He’s afraid to ask. To have his failure’s brought so clearly to bear in front of him. It’s what he’s thought of the most since that day. What happened to Tony. Wondering over his fate and hoping for the best but expecting the worst. Thinking of new terrifying horrors and feeling at his lowest when he’d rather wish Tony dead than to think of him enduring them. He could peel back whole days where he’d gone back and forth on such things before he came across Carol and Valkyrie, before he started to pull himself out of the worst of it. 

Even so, Tony is here. Whole and alive and he doesn’t have any right to complain. So he steels himself against guilt and self pity. Against the worthlessness he feels creeping up on him, reminding him that he’d been the one to fail Tony so completely. He holds himself stiffly upright to listen to what Tony has to say because he’s owed that much and more. 

“When I think about what you’ve been through,” Tony starts shocking Rhodey out of his self hate enough that his jaw drops. He feels the urge to correct the other man but nothing comes of it. His throat closes around the words. “I used to think you must have hated me. At least once or twice after everything. I remember how hard you worked, how proud you were of your career, and all of that work and sacrifice you put in went to shit in one afternoon. Because of my family...because of me.” 

No, that’s not right. That’s so far off base it isn’t even funny but Tony doesn't acknowledge him, eyes fixed firmly on his own hands, blue swallowing up the brown of his irises. 

“I’d hate me if I were you. All of that for what they did to you.” 

“Tony, no!” 

“Please,” Tony whispers so uncharacteristically quietly that Rhodey’s words dry up. “I don’t talk about this. Not with any of them. I mean, Pep knows some things and Bruce has always been smart. I’m not stupid enough to think Nat will never figure it out, but I live in delusional hope where she’s concerned so there’s that. The kids don’t know and I don’t know if I’ll ever be strong enough to tell them.” 

“What happened, Tony?” Rhodey prompts after the man goes silent, lost for a few minutes between one thought and the next. Tony looks up at him, shoulders hunched, eyes fiery blue and full of regret. 

“You deserve to know,” Tony says, agony in every word. “After all you did. After how hard you fought for me. You deserve to know the truth.”  
“You don’t have to tell me.” 

“Of course I do.” 

“It’s not important.” 

“That’s because you don’t know!” 

“I don’t need to know, Tony!” 

“I forgot you!” Tony snaps, sounding wrung out, like the truth has been carved straight out of his core. He breathes heavily, head hanging low between his shoulder blades, coming to rest in his palms. 

He kind of feels like all of the air’s been sucked out of the room as he tries to breathe deeply and keep himself calm. What does that mean? Tony forgot him? It doesn’t make sense. 

Rhodey moves on autopilot, coming around to Tony’s side of the table and straddling the bench beside him. He doesn’t think about whether or not it’s appropriate to wrap his arms around him, he just goes about it as easily as he breathes and pulls Tony into his chest, still lost in the words Tony had said. 

“I don’t remember it all myself. The parts that I do...are unpleasant to say the least,” Tony says, “I forgot you,” Tony sobs, unable to hold it all back. “It was easier, I’m so sorry! I couldn’t take it anymore. They just kept using you and I couldn’t tell any more what was real!” 

“I don’t understand,” Rhodey says at a loss for anything else to say. He squeezes his arms around Tony tightly, reinforcing that he has no intention of letting go. “Help me understand, Tones.” 

“The people who found me. They weren’t good people. Not even honest traders or bounty hunters. I’d have been better off if they were bounty hunters. I don’t remember much after they got me out of my suit. I remember they didn’t think I was alive. The suit messed with their sensors trying to read my vitals. It wasn’t until they removed the parts fused to my chest that they figured it out. They saved me then they sold me. It was all so quick. They kept telling me my people were coming for me. At the time I thought it was you. I was so sure and then things got weird. The people they sold me to were even worse. I only know it was AIM because of Pepper.” 

“Captain Potts worked for AIM?” It was hard to reconcile the stern Captain covered in dirt and grease from working on her own ship ever walking the pristine halls of an AIM facility but he supposes it’s possible. 

“Yes, years ago she was an executive, the youngest one they had but she caught the eye of their founder, Aldritch Killian and moved up quickly through the ranks. She was different back then. Then she met me and I ruined all of that. I’m good at that. Ruining things. AIM didn’t know who they had. I was lucky at first that they didn’t know. Parts of the face plate had fused to my skin thanks to the radiation. It wasn’t built for long term use, but I guess you can say that worked out in the long run since it made it hard for them to recognize me. I found out later that the man who sold me omitted what they knew about the suit and told them I was the survivor of a raided transport vessel. AIM was none the wiser began running tests on me immediately.” 

“You were a test subject,” Rhodey growls, angry at the Org that denied that they did so at every turn. All willing test subjects they’d say at every inquiry hearing. 

“So the files say. After those first few days of testing I don’t remember much. I think I was in shock.” 

“The files?” 

“Pep...should we say...liberated some files when she got me out of there.” 

“She saved you,” Rhodey says awed. 

“She got me out of there,” Tony repeats in a similar fashion. There’s a little curve to his lips that Rhodey can barely see but it’s there all the same. “The whole thing is a blur to this day. I owe her my life. That’s what I see when I look at her. I can’t even repay that. She could have left me there and gone about her comfortable life but she chose to rescue me. The lunatic.” 

“What did they do to you?” 

“They called it Extremis,” Tony trembles against him. The fabric along Rhodey’s collarbone feels damp, and Rhodey just brings a hand up to thread through Tony’s hair. He strokes through soft locks soothingly. “It’s a hard process.” 

Tony goes quiet like he’s waiting for Rhodey to push. He could, he wants to, really wants to but he can sense Tony’s not up to it. Might not ever be. And what does it matter, really? There are things he’d surely never want to tell Tony for fear of having to look him in the eye after. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Rhodey says, his other hand rubbing gentle circles on Tony’s back. “Just, is that what made you forget?” 

“No,” Tony sniffs after a moment. “That came after they healed me. After one of them recognized who I was. We’ve never been able to suss out if the Skrulls are running AIM, or if it’s just a select few agents keeping tabs. Whichever it is, doesn’t really matter I suppose. Once they knew who I was, they thought I was the key to finding my Dad’s Skrull detector. It was too much of a liability to their plans if it were really out there so they’ve been searching for any leads. They were convinced I knew and with Extremis in my veins I was capable of handling their AIM’s methods of interrogation. When that didn’t work,” Tony says tiredly. “They used you a lot. I saw you everyday. More than in my dreams.” 

Rhodey sucks in a sharp breath remembering Natasha’s words. How they had her locked up with a Skrull posing as her trying to unearth her secrets to be better able to convince others and gain valuable intel. 

“I was already declared dead so they couldn’t just replace me. It would serve no purpose with Stane already working for them so they tried to pick me apart. Too bad for them I wasn’t already in the best place.” 

They just broke him further. Rhodey presses a kiss to Tony’s hair. 

“It became easier, huh,” Rhodey says grasping onto the crumbs Tony’s been leaving not wanting him to push himself further. “I’ll bet.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Tony whispers morosely. 

"Why?" Rhodey asks. Tony has nothing to be sorry for. 

“I just told you,” Tony answers. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Rhodey tells him. “You survived, that’s all that matters to me.” 

The younger man abruptly pulls away and Rhodey watches his blue eyes intensify the way he’d seen on Knowhere. 

"Look at me!" He gestures to the glow beneath his skin, heat rising to the surface menacingly orange. 

"I am looking at you,” Rhodey says calmly. 

"I'm not me anymore,” Tony’s voice goes hoarse as he looks down at himself. 

Rhodey blinks in disbelief. 

"No shit, Tones! I'm not who I used to be either!" 

"It's different,” he answers stubbornly. His glow recedes back to olive toned skin and his eyes melt back to a honey brown

"How?" Rhodey demands, ready for this particular level of Tony’s logic. He may not be the same but some things never change no matter how much you try to out grow or out run them. 

"You're you and I'm me. Even when you were discharged, you've helped more people than I ever could. You're good." 

"If you only knew,” Rhodey snorts derisively but that’s another story for another day when Tony’s not trying to derail them. “Did you create Iron Man to hurt people?" 

"Rhodey--" 

"Answer the question, Tony." 

"No, not at first. Then Harley happened, and Nat, and then Peter and-and May. I couldn't find you and I just got so angry. I couldn't let them take anyone else from me. Then we found out what they were planning and it was just too much." 

"Have you ever targeted civilians?" 

"Christ, no!" Tony shouts angrily with a fierce look in his eyes.

"Of course not. You may not be that boy that I loved but you're still good. Always trying, never backing down from a challenge, irritatingly stubborn." 

"Whoa slow down on the compliments there." 

"Even if we never make it back to that place, you'll have me." 

"You don't know--" 

"What you did to survive? I don't and I won't until you're ready for me to know. But if you're sitting here beating yourself up over the things you've done then, baby, we're a matching set." 

Tony hangs his head.

Rhodey reaches out and covers Tony’s closed fist with his hand. He works at the warm skin, calloused pad of his thumb rubbing against Tony’s knuckles. Slowly Tony opens up, lets his fingers spread wide and tangle with Rhodey’s. They’re both silent a while and Rhodey suddenly feels more settled than he has in years. The Asterion has never felt further away than it does right now. He grips the back of Tony’s neck with his other hand and squeezes firmly, a reminder. 

"You'll tell me some day?" Rhodey needs to know at least that. He’s not being shut out. Tony won’t give up that fight. Tony squeezes Rhodey’s hand in his in an answer Rhodey’s totally willing to accept. 

“You’ll tell me, too?” Tony asks, a hopeful smile in place. 

"We'll work our way up to it,” Rhodey grins back. “I promise.”


End file.
